


hazy love lines

by ssupernovad



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A little Nyma x James happening, Both running for student body president, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, High School AU, Keith is the top student, Lance is the new student, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Student Council, Swearing, a lil only, campaign, honor student, klance, only a little though, semi-angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 09:32:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16405850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssupernovad/pseuds/ssupernovad
Summary: Keith has been the highest ranking student ever since 2nd grade. Now that he’s a high school senior, he does his best to keep his grades the highest that they could possibly be, since he’s going to start applying to colleges. Although, a new student easily works his own way up the food chain, getting high grades and participating in a lot of extracurricular activities—being noticed more and more by teachers, leaving Keith behind on the playing field. Of course, the top student begs to differ. So in order to keep his spot as the highest honor in his batch, he needs to push down the new student lower and lower. How does he do this? Easy—Keith befriends him.





	hazy love lines

**Author's Note:**

> this is something I did for Keith's birthday on October 23 of the year 2018. it's my entry for the keith birthday baby bang of the same year. my teammate for this event is ninjashield5 on tumblr, a very amazing artist. I never could've asked for a better partner. here's their art to it ---> https://ninjashield5.tumblr.com/post/179432030196/this-is-my-piece-for-keithbabybang-i-was-paired go check it out!  
> this little au is my own idea, and I'm very glad to be able to share it with y'all. I wrote everything in the midst of deadlines and tests in school. believe it or not, writing this au actually made my grades go super high. also, the title is from oh wonder's "without you", which is a really great song, y'all should listen to it.  
> I don't usually believe in the whole "soulmate" thing, but with this au, I made an exception. now, my hopes are a little bit higher.  
> I hope you all enjoy this as much as I did writing it. if you want to make some art to this piece (thank you!) make sure to tag it #ssupernovadhazylovelines or #hazylovelinesa03 or #ssupernovadhll.  
> that's it! thanks again for clicking on this, it means a lot :)
> 
> tumblr: volkogane

**** Even though he has been telling himself this for the whole two months of summer, Keith reassures himself  _ again  _ that he’s going to finish the top of his batch for his senior year. Of course, he doesn’t raise his voice about it like some of his selfish and egotistical classmates, no. He keeps it to himself, and he’s been keeping it to himself ever since he became the top student in 2nd grade. Honestly, he’s not one of those boastful people who run around the school halls announcing that they got a certificate of participation. Keith could easily be awarded the most humble person in the entire Garrison High School. His modesty is exceptional.

For the past four years of high school, Keith has been taking it particularly easy. He would be lounging around in class, listening whenever he only wants to, talks to who he wants to, and does what he wants to (just nothing illegal). These practices have not affected his grade whatsoever, and he still finished the top of his batch up until junior year.

Today is the start of senior year. In a month or two, Keith’s going to start applying to colleges. Big and important colleges, like Harvard, or NYU, where his older brother Shiro is. For sure, when these schools take a look at his transcript, they’re all going to drag him inside the campus and offer a special spot just for him. Although, Keith doesn’t like being pushed around. He takes things at his own pace, slow and steady. His whole life is a gigantic seismograph, and one single thing can ripple the direction. He doesn’t want that to happen. 

On this particular first day, he got a bit sentimental, because it’s his very last first day of high school. He wouldn’t walk through those double doors again to get a free pack of Cheetos. Well, the free Cheetos would be given out by two seniors waiting at the school entrance, welcoming anyone and everyone that comes in. The bags of Cheetos all have papers stapled onto them, saying: “ _ Enjoy this new year like you enjoy a pack of Cheetos”. _

And this year—it said exactly that again.

So Keith grabbed his very last bag of free first-day Cheetos, and proceeded to class. 

Homeroom was great. He shared it with Hunk and Katie, two of his best friends ever since he transferred in 1st grade. Those two never left his side ever since then. Katie would always say that she and Hunk were Keith’s little sidekicks, but Keith loved to disagree with people, so he did.  On the bleachers in 5th grade, he told them that: “ _ No, you guys aren’t my sidekicks. We’re each other’s sidekicks in their own story _ .”

So, Keith stepped out of the spotlight. 

But that never meant that he got away from all the girls. 

The girls—they were another thing. Keith loved to call them “Sephoras”, because they practically knew nothing except makeup. The Sephoras (not their official name), founded and led by Sydney Davis, would chase Keith around the school hallways whenever they had the chance. One randomly appeared out of nowhere while Keith was fixing up his locker. Another one surprised Keith when he got out of the showers. Two of them tried  _ so  _ hard to get Keith as part of their Science fair trio, but Mr. Iverson was kind enough to see the annoyance in Keith’s eyes, so he let the girls work together as a pair, and Keith with Hunk and Katie. Three of them desperately wanted Keith to take them to the middle school Christmas Ball. And all of the Sephoras had huge crushes on Keith.

But here’s the thing: Keith has a huge ass secret. And he isn’t ready to let it get out there just yet. 

He wants to say it at his own time, at something he’s rehearsed and prepared for. He doesn’t want his secret to be told by someone else. He wants to say it himself. 

Keith doesn’t know exactly when he’s going to reveal this big secret, so at the moment, he lays low. 

The Sephoras have visibly lessened in high school, but that doesn’t mean that they’re extinct just yet. On the first day of senior year, just a few days ago, a Sephora by the name Sandra Elms walked up to Keith, asking if he’s excited for the new school year. But Keith Kogane  _ is _ Keith Kogane, so instead of turning around to answer her, he keeps walking towards his next class, never to be seen again. 

Today is the third day of classes, and Keith can already feel the heavy downpour of stress coming his way. 

“Yo, I mean, we already have a Science test on Friday.” Hunk says, taking a bite out of his sandwich. 

The three are all seated at their usual spot in the cafeteria—a table near the farther left end. It’s filled to the brim today, students from the lower batches mixing and mingling like they haven’t caught up with each other in the past 2 days. But the best view of them all, amongst the same old gross spam they serve, is the freshmen, walking around aimlessly like a bunch of headless chickens. 

They were pretty obvious to see. Just individuals who trudge around the room frantically, looking for an empty seat. Some cringe at the lunch being served. Some just look out the window. And some head to the bathroom with their lunch trays. Who’s going to be the one to break it to them that the eating-in-the-bathroom-stall-whilst-crying trope isn’t realistic because one: there aren’t as much bullies as the tv shows say and two: eating in the bathroom is just gross?

“I know, Ms. Montgomery teaches too fast.” Katie says, adjusting her glasses. Her hair is up in a ponytail on this day—which is a new sight. Keith’s never seen Katie with her hair up before, because she always keeps it short. 

“Hey, you didn’t cut your hair over the summer?” Keith asks.

Katie reaches up involuntarily. “Nah. I had this computer science training thing,” she places her hand back down on her fork, “Too much stuff to do. Chopping off hair isn’t one of them.”

“Understood.” Keith says. He isn’t eating anymore because he finished his lunch early like he always does. 

A figure slides into the seat beside him. It’s Nyma, who’s hair is strikingly blonde and hard to not notice. Her leg hits Keith’s, and she mutters a slight  _ ‘sorry! _ ’.

“Have you guys seen the new student?” she asks, her head instinctively leaning in towards the center of the table. 

Katie drops her fork. “What? There’s a new guy?”

“Yeah,” Nyma lifts her head and scans the crowd. “Haven’t seen him in here though.”

“Where’d you spot him?” Keith inquires. A part of him wants to know if this new guy is cute. Wait,  _ screw that _ . He just wants to know who he is.

Nyma brings her head back down. “I have Spanish with him, and he’s like,  _ really  _ good at speaking Spanish. I mean, he does look like he’s cuban and he’s got soft brown hair and I don’t know why I just described his hair as soft I mean I haven’t even touched it it’s like I already know him but I don’t because he’s new and where did he come from is he smart is he athletic is he—”

“Nyma. Stop. Rapping.” Katie speaks, leaning back on her chair. 

“Sorry.” Nyma replies. 

“So, this new guy,” Hunk presses his fingertips together. “What’s his name?”

Nyma’s eyes widen like she’s seen a ghost. “I don’t… know, actually. What? How could I not! I’m better than this! Tell me I’m better than this!” she shakes Keith’s shoulders.

Keith snaps out of his slight gaze—which was envisioning this cuban boy with soft brown hair in his mind—and answers: “Uh yeah, you’re better than this, I guess.”

Nyma releases Keith’s shoulders and calms down. “Thanks. Still, how could I forget his name?”

“Hm. Maybe it’s something common?” Hunk suggests.

Nyma points a finger at him. “Yes. That’s right! It’s a name I’ve definitely heard of before. But what could it be?” She looks down at her shoes in deep thought. 

“Don’t know.” Keith says. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and leans back. 

Thoughts run through his brain. He’s trying to piece things together, yet he couldn’t. At this point, he could only pray to see this boy in person. In school, at Target—anywhere for that matter. He just wants to know if he’s worth the time or not. 

If he’s not then Keith can go screw off. 

And if he is?

Well, that’s a whole other story. 

* * *

 

“Now, what is the arithmetic mean of this sequence?” Mr. Dos Santos scribbles a question mark on the board. 

It takes a few seconds before students start to raise their hands. Some have their own answers, some have answers from other classmates who are too shy to raise their hands.

Keith’s neither of those two. Yes, he does have his answer, long before the teacher even asked the class. But he doesn’t raise his hand. Why? Because Mr. Dos Santos tends to call him all the time. Keith knew about this in grade 8. From then on, he stopped raising his hand in math class. Only in math class, because that’s the only subject he could not participate in  _ at all  _ and he’d still get the highest grade out of all the students in his batch. Nothing has changed.

Mr. Dos Santos skims through the raised hands and chooses Venus, a girl who’s a year younger than everyone, yet she keeps a snug spot on the top 5. Just like any other honor students, she’s tried  _ so  _ hard to surpass Keith. 

But here’s the thing, even if you try real hard, even if you study day and night, even if you enroll in a hundred different review schools at the same time, you can’t beat Keith. He’s…  _ something other _ . 

Venus says the answer out loud, and Keith mumbles a “24” under his breath. They’re both correct.

Mr. Dos Santos claps his hands. “Okay, seems like you’re all familiar with the lesson. Get a piece of paper, write your name on it and get ready for a short quiz.”

If the question mark symbol could be read out loud, Keith was certain his classmates just did that. A bunch of “ _ what’s? _ ” and “ _ wait’s! _ ” could be heard from every corner. Some are getting out their paper, some are skimming through their notes one last time before entering the battlefield. 

The whole class is in shambles until a knock sounds at the door. 

The door unlocks and swings open, revealing Mr. Smythe, the Vice Principal. 

Everyone shuts up immediately and stands up to greet him. But just like the hip VP he is, Mr. Smythe waves his hand and gestures for everyone to sit back down.

“No no no, no need for all that,” he starts. “Mr. Dos Santos, so sorry for interrupting your class.” 

Dos Santos shakes his head. “It’s fine, there’s no need to apologize.”

“Terrific. May I just have a quick word with Keith, please? It’ll take two minutes.” he says, looking over to Keith. 

Keith has been excused a bunch of times out of class, all of those moments seem to get his heart beating out of his chest. His palms start to sweat. His head aches a little. Even though he’s for certain that he hasn’t done anything wrong, he still gets nervous.

He tries to shake it off and stands up carefully, making his way to the door as calmly as possible. 

Mr. Smythe bids goodbye to Mr. Dos Santos and the class, then he leads Keith out of the room and shuts the door. 

“Don’t get all nervous on me, Kogane, you’re not in trouble.” the VP smiles. 

“Thanks for reassuring me, I guess.” Keith shrugs. Mr. Smythe gestures toward the hall, a sign that he wants Keith to walk with him. 

“Come along, I need to discuss something with you in my office.” 

The Vice Principal’s office is just a short walk away from Mr. Dos Santos’ classroom. It’s the equivalent of a walk down the junior’s hallway, a left, and a right after the girl’s bathroom on the same floor. Keith expected at least  _ one  _ Sephora to walk out of the said bathroom, but to his luck, the only person who exited the white door is a freshman who took a quick glance at Mr. Smythe before briskly walking away. 

Keith doesn’t know why everyone’s so scared of the VP. He isn’t as terrifying as the other students say he is. At first, he could give you weird glances, Keith has to admit. Pretty sure they had a full on staring contest in sophomore year. But, once you get to know him and the years from being in Garrison High add up, you’ll realize he isn’t quite the terror at all. Mr. Coran Smythe is definitely a charmer. 

The chair in Mr. Smythe’s office has always been a comfortable place for Keith. It’s where he’d get congratulated personally from winning a certain competition, or where he’d met exchange students who were tasked to be guided by him throughout the year. To others, though, that chair Keith’s sitting on at this very moment could have been the chair bullies sit in while they hear the news that they’re getting expelled. 

Damn, how many tears could the chair have held?

“So, Keith, I just wanted to commend you for having such…  _ exemplary  _ grades these past years.” Mr. Smythe starts off. He interlocks his fingers and rest his chin on them.

Keith shrugs. “Um, thank you?”

“No, Keith, thank  _ you.”  _ this is it, Keith can feel. This is the moment that he’s going to be kicked out. Even if he hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s getting kicked out. That’s it. Done. Bye bye Garrison High.

Keith fiddles nervously with his fingers, not knowing what to answer. He blinks twice, and Smythe takes it as a sign to keep talking. 

“Because of these incredibly high grades that you’ve been getting, and, should I mention, your various medals and trophies won…” he raises his eyebrows, a small smile playing on his lips—right below his bright orange moustache. 

Keith’s eyebrows burrow together. “What? What’s gonna happen?”

“...are you sure you’re up for this?” the smile grows wider. 

“As up for it as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Keith…”

“What?”

“...”

“What?”

“Oh, Keith…”

“What?!”

Mr. Smythe inhales sharply. “I’m offering you a spot as the President of the Garrison High Student Council!” 

Keith can’t believe what he just heard. Yeah, maybe he’s not getting kicked out, but President? Of the Student Council? That’s a dream he’s always had ever since he knew what a student council was. 

He’s heard of this choosing process before. The positions from the batch representatives all the way to the secretary are nominated by batchmates and teachers. The people running for President and Vice President though, are chosen by the Principal and the VP. When Keith’s older brother Shiro was still in Garrison, he was chosen by Mr. Smythe himself to run for President. He accepted the offer, and three weeks of campaigning later, he won. Shiro pledged to make that year the best year of high school he’s ever had. And he wasn’t wrong. 

So, just like his brother did, Keith agrees.

* * *

 

 

At the end of the very eventful day, Keith meets up with Katie, Hunk, and Nyma. It’s tradition—after classes end, at 3:30, the four of them wait for each other in front of Keith’s locker. They’ve been doing that ever since they discovered they were friends. When everyone’s present, they all talk about the events of that day while walking towards the exit. 

“But… can you balance all the shit you have to deal with being President  _ and  _ keeping high grades?” Katie asks. She inches her glasses up her nose while staring at Keith with a puzzled look. 

Students pass here and there, and Keith doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be spreading this information. “I don’t know, probably.” he whispers. 

Hunk nudges Keith’s shoulder. “Of course you can. You can do anything.” 

Keith smiles. “Heh. Thanks.” 

“So who are you up against?” Nyma inquires, leaning in closer to Keith. At this point, they’ve reached the front doors of the school. Time to branch off. 

“Mr. Smythe hasn’t told me anything yet, but I’m pretty sure my competition’s just gonna be one person.” Keith answers, nodding towards Nyma. 

“Oh. Well, when  _ will  _ we know?” she pushes. 

“Probably a week from now? Not sure.”

Hunk, with his huge arms, push the doors open for all of them. Once they step outside, the air instantly hits them hard in the face. The sun’s about to go down, covering the entire front yard of the school in a bright orange hue. It’s kind of pretty, Keith won’t lie. He’ll miss this school so much when he’s in college. 

He gets this feeling all the time. He wants to leave already, but at the same time, he doesn’t. Deep inside him, there’s something that’s anchoring him to Garrison High. He’s not entirely sure about what it is, but he  _ does  _ know that he’s going to find out soon. 

Something about this year would make his senior year as perfect as it could get. And it isn’t him being president. 

Because if he loses, he still will have a reason to make it through.

What could it be?

“‘Kay. Just call for help if you need campaign ideas.” Nyma says, flashing a wide smile. She’s always been the creative kind. Winning painting contests, video-making competitions, and public speaking gigs. The white walls of her room are filled with her colorful calligraphy. Keith has been at least twice, and it’s like stepping into another dimension. Her mom also doesn’t mind about the paint splatters on the wooden floor. “ _ It’s not a mess, _ ” she’d say. “ _ It’s art.” _

Nyma has lived off her mom’s words. She’s still continuing to become just like her mother. A month ago she applied to CalArts, and she got accepted. The problem is: she’s moving all the way across the country in 10 months. So, Keith would do his best to spend as much time as he could with her before she flies away. 

“Yeah, I already know that. Thanks, Nyma.” Keith replies. 

* * *

 

Keith sighs into the phone, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

“ _ No way. You’re joking. I can’t believe… _ ” the voice from his phone says. It’s his older brother Shiro, who’s currently in NYU. Keith has told him all about this whole President-of-the-Student-Council thing that’s going on, but Shiro’s finding it hard to believe if his brother is telling the truth.

“Well, believe it or not, it’s real. I’m compiling my report cards as we speak.” Keith says, pulling his phone that’s on speaker on the other side of the desk closer towards him, just so that Shiro can hear him loud and clear. He lied, he’s already fixed everything he’s needed for his presidency envelope: report cards, certificates, and teacher and student recommendations. They’re all inside a long green folder, which Keith swipes off the dust every two minutes. 

It’s 8 PM and he’s just finished dinner and said goodnight to his mom and dad, but Shiro’s still out here doubting so much that his hair might as well be turning white. 

“ _ Ju—no way. No no, absolutely no way you’re going to be president. You’re lying. Give me proof _ .” Shiro dictates, his voice becoming slightly sarcastic. 

“Fineeeee. I’ll send you Smythe’s letter.”

“ _ Alright.” _

Keith rolls his desk chair over to his study table, opening up the green folder and exiting Shiro’s call. Thanks to technology, he’s still on the line. He pulls out the VP’s letter to Keith’s parents to let them know that Keith’s been chosen as a candidate for President. His mom and dad have already signed on the dotted lines, and they’ve been saying nothing to Keith but compliments. 

He snaps a picture of the letter and sends it to Shiro. It takes a minute for his brother to read it. 

“ _ Wow, kid. You really are becoming like me, aren’t ya?”  _ Shiro jokes. 

“Well, you’re studying at my dream school, so if I want to be where you are, then I guess I gotta live up to it.” Keith says. 

“ _ Hey,”  _ Shiro starts. “ _ If you don’t win, don’t take it too hard on yourself. All things happen for a reason.” _

“Hmm.  _ Raisin _ .” Keith speaks, reminding Shiro of an inside joke they share. 

_ “Ha ha, Keith. That’s funny.”  _ Shiro laughs. 

“I miss you. Mom and dad miss you.” Keith rests his chin on his hand. 

Shiro inhales deeply. “ _ Same here, Keith. Same here.”  _

“How are you and Adam?” Keith inquires. 

Adam is Shiro’s boyfriend. They’ve been together ever since they were both freshmen in NYU, which was two years ago. At first, everyone was bewildered. It was something unusual, least to say, but it was something they had to live with. Their parents only took a while to get used to it, calling Adam over for dinner, asking Adam to join their family at Christmas, and just plain supporting Shiro for his choices. 

Keith knew everything about his brother. From his favorite color to which bathroom stall at Target makes him feel uneasy. Shiro shared everything with Keith, especially things about his sexuality. He’s always been so open, like literally what he thought of, he told Keith.

One particular Saturday when Keith was in 8th grade, Shiro sat on his bed and looked at Keith with eyes so sincere as if he’s about to give Keith the secret to the universe. 

And he did. 

Shiro came out to Keith on that day. He told Keith how he had a crush on this one linebacker when he was still in high school. He didn’t think much of it then, but a few days back a guy asked him for directions around the campus. This guy had glasses, and the sweetest smile Shiro’s ever seen.

That guy was Adam. Fast forward to two years later, they’re sharing an apartment close to college, loving and living as never before. 

And Keith’s a little jealous, because his brother could so easily express himself as much as he wants to. He, himself, can’t. Keith isn’t quite sure if he could hold in his secret any longer. 

He just needs the perfect timing. 

“ _ Everything’s good, yeah. We watched Black Panther last week.”  _

“Really?” Keith chimes. That’s his forever favorite movie. “Tell me  _ alllllll _ about it.”

* * *

 

After a long week of tests, projects, and submitting requirements for his candidacy, Keith gets another big break. 

On Friday last week, during English with Mr. Iverson, Keith was chosen to represent his batch for the annual Garrison High Essay Writing Competition. Sure, Keith could do it. Keith can do anything when it comes to writing. Just give him a topic, and he can spew 500 words on the spot. No lie.

How great is he? 

Here’s the truth: he can answer a question without even literally answering  it. Seriously—back in 8th grade, there was an essay question about photosynthesis that he  _ did not  _ study about. So, instead of getting a big fat 0, he babbled on those 5 horizontal lines about how important photosynthesis is, using his different tactics like fancy words and just the right amount of repetition. If you thought that would for sure get his grades down, it actually boosted them back up and higher than ever before. 

The crazy thing is, Ms. Montgomery didn’t even notice how he didn’t answer the question. She sees words straight from a philosopher’s brain and the positive effects that plants have to humans, she grades it an A+. 

His tactic is a little dysfunctional during competitions like these, because the school gets real-world writers who are willing to judge the contestants, and Keith can’t just write nonsense.

He won last year by having an equal ratio of information and opinion. 1,279 words about nutrition and having a healthy diet. His piece was guest-posted on the New York Times. Everyone in the school saw it and from then on, didn’t even try to challenge Keith to anything and everything intellectual. 

On the same Friday, at lunch, Keith found out that Hunk was joining the competition too, just because he was also a great writer. Hunk has already accepted defeat right when Keith said he was a contestant as well. 

“Alright. I won’t even try.” he said. 

“Sorry if I have that effect on people,” Keith told him. 

“Nah, don’t apologize man. It’s a natural phenomenon—like how there are millions of tiny little earthquakes beneath us every day—it doesn’t need any questioning.” Hunk reassured.

“Hope I’m as harmless.”

On Tuesday, the entire hour after lunch is reserved by the school library to hold the essay writing competition. After leaving their stomachs grumbling because they are too nervous to eat, the contestants start piling into the library. They scour paper after paper of current events, eyes filled with dread and foreheads lined with sweat. If this is the first time you’ve ever seen a competition like this, you might as well be looking at dumb people trying to fight for their lives in the zombie apocalypse. Yup, the ones who get killed in the first 2 minutes.

Mrs. Honerva, the librarian, leads every contestant to their assigned seat at the library. All of them are to sit at their own respective computers, one chair away from each other to avoid cheating. The contest will go on for an hour and a half, with no breaks in between. All essays should have a minimum count of 2,000 words. Searching for any terms would lead to disqualification. 

Simple contest, simple rules. 

The contestants, all seniors, are doing whatever it is to keep them calm. Rizavi is chewing her gum obnoxiously loud. Jeremy is playing 2 cars on his phone. Kimberly is picking at her nails. Steven is… ordering pizza. Real mature. 

When Keith enters the room though, everyone immediately stops what they are doing. Since no one knew who they were up against, seeing Keith walk through the double doors felt like a death wish. 

Everyone stares at him with wide eyes and mouths hanging low. Tyler makes the sign of the cross. 

“Ah, finally. You’re right on time, Kogane,” Mrs. Honerva says, “Your spot is a seat away from James.” 

Keith calmly nods at her, stuffing his hands casually in his pockets as if he’s just walking in the park. Because he is, and beating all the people here would be easy as singing the ABCs. Basic. It’s basic.

James Griffin doesn’t let his gaze go until Keith sits down a few feet away from him. 

“Heard you’re running for student body president, hot shot,” James says, tapping his fingers on the white desk. Microsoft Word is open on his desktop, the single vertical line flickering in and out of view.

“Where did you hear that? I thought it was private.” Keith decides to open up Word on his own desktop, too. 

“Nyma has a big mouth,” James replies, smiling a bit at the thought. “She’s pretty, though.”

Keith eyes roll to the back of his head. “Pssh, she’s never going out with someone like  _ you. _ ”

“Too late.” James turns his head to look at Keith. His eyes are squinted, mouth turned up in a grin. “Gonna take her out this Friday.”

“Really?” Keith asks, pushing the mouse on his desk around. “She  _ actually  _ agreed?”

“Matter of fact, yeah. You surprised?” 

“Nah. You go out with almost anybody.” Keith snickers.

“Now now, Keith, no need to get jealous.” James leans back.

Keith scoffs. “I’m not,” he says. It’s true; why would he get jealous of James Griffin? He only has the nicest cars, the nicest clothes, the nicest house, the nicest face—

“Three minutes until we officially start.” Mrs. Honerva’s voice calls throughout the four walls of the library. Everyone becomes quiet for a moment, before breaking out into conversation again. 

“Whatever,” James tells Keith. He runs a hand through his hair before sighing. “Already know who’s gonna come second place?”

Keith lifts his head, scouring the sea of contestants to see who he’s up against. He takes a quick look at every familiar face, remembering how those people write their essays. Keith’s already listing down strategies in his head to counter-attack the methods the competitors are going to use. Like Vivienne’s—she tends to state way too many facts like she’s a Wikipedia page. Nope, Keith’s staying on the creative lane. And Alexa’s—she repeats words over and over like a broken record. Nope, no repetition. Blake too—he says too much. Nope, no going over 3,000 words. And…  _ who’s that? _

Sitting next to Blake is a face Keith has never seen before. But it feels all too familiar, like he’s been described by someone. He’s tall, has the nicest tan skin, brown hair that sits perfectly on top of his head, and he looks like he might be half something—

_ Shit _ . That’s the guy Nyma’s talking about. 

“Found anyone?” James asks.

“Hey, who’s that?” Keith gestures toward the new guy. James extends his neck to see who Keith’s talking about. 

“Who, Blake?”

“No, the one next to him.” 

James squints to see better, before bringing his head back down. “Oh, him. That’s Lance. He’s new around here.”

Keith’s heart jumps at the name, and he doesn’t know why. Lance _. Lance.  _ That’s a nice name. 

“Is he someone I need to worry about?” Keith inquires. 

James blinks once. “I… think so. Some say he’s the top student at his old school. Could just be rumors though.”

“One minute!” Mrs. Honerva reminds. 

“Really?” Keith leans forward. Out of nowhere, fear sparks in his chest. Oh no. What if he loses? 

“I dunno, man. Ask him,” James says, tucking a leg under himself. “Just be careful, I think. You don’t know what’s under his sleeve.”

Keith’s eyes drift to Lance again. He’s so relaxed. His mouth moves in a way that he’s singing to himself, drumming his long fingers on the desk to the beat. He looks to the left and catches Alexa’s attention. Alexa sees him, kicking into hyperdrive and smiling. And Lance’s response?

He winks.  _ He fucking winks _ . 

And Keith’s heart begins to throb. 

“Okay! Let’s begin,” Mrs. Honerva chimes. She’s usually not this happy. Maybe she’s given this day a chance, just because she loves english so much. 

Keith catches Hunk’s eye. Hunk shakes his head, eyes as wide as planets.

“To keep you all from waiting any longer, allow me to introduce the topic your essays will be about,” she begins, nudging her glasses higher on her nose and scanning the paper she’s holding, “The topic chosen by the English subject coordinator, Mr. Mitch Iverson, is federalism.”

At the word, some gasp, slamming their fists onto the desks because they have no idea what the hell federalism is, and some rejoice because they spent most of the night before studying for this sort of thing. 

Keith just sits there, compiling all the information he needs, all the people he can quote, the news headlines, the WSJ articles, the newspaper headings and Lance—

What the hell? How the fuck did Lance manage to appear in his thoughts?

Oh, scratch him. Keith is going to destroy this essay. He knows it.

“Your one and a half our begins…” Mrs. Honerva brings her watch up to her face, “Now!”

Without a single second passing by, all the contestants instantly type out words furiously just like they would be typing on old-school typewriters that are too noisy. Keith has his thoughts arranged and well-calculated. All he has to do is write them down. 

200 words in. He’s starting off strong.

300 words. He uses deep words. 

400 words. James groans in frustration. Keith leaves him be.

60o words. 

800 words. 

1,000 words.

1,400 words. Keith takes a look at the others. Their eyes are glued to their screens, practically spitting out dictionary after dictionary. 

1,410 words. Keith spots Lance.

1,411 words. Lance sees him.

1,412 words. Lance smiles. 

1,412 words.

1,412 words.

1,412 words.

1,412 words.

_ Shit.  _

“You doing okay man?” James asks, his eyes not leaving his screen.

“Uhh… yeah, yeah. I’m good.” Keith answers.

He’s not. 

1,415 words. He looks at Lance again.

1,417 words. Lance sees him. Again.

1,419 words. Lance laughs. Not a smile. But a laugh. 

1,421 words. Keith’s cheeks are on fire. He doesn’t know why. 

1,423 words. He tries to focus on his essay. 

1,425 words. He can’t.

* * *

 

3,918 words.

“And that is time!” Mrs. Honerva’s voice bounces around the four walls of the library. “Now, I’d like to thank everyone for being here today, I’m sure you all did your very best. You may now head back to your respective classes.”

James gets up first, eager to leave. He stretches his arms to the side, twists his neck in a couple directions, and rotates his shoulders clockwise and counter. 

“Stay sharp with that guy, Keith,” he calls, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. It’s just a plain black Jansport, but with a stormtrooper patch on the left side. 

Keith gets up as well, pushing the chair back into place. “Yeah. I will. Thanks, for…”

“Giving you the gossip?” James completes. 

“Uh huh. You sure did come in handy.” Keith smiles.

“Glad to help. See ya ‘round,” he says, before turning his back and disappearing through the library doors with a bunch of other contestants. 

Keith walks away from his seat, too. He keeps his head down, trying to be as humble as he could, looking at his shoes. He’s a hundred percent sure he’s going to place, but not entirely confident that he’s going to win in first. He doesn’t have a problem with James, though. James is a great writer, but, he gets off topic sometimes. 

James has played a particularly important part in Keith’s life. He’s helped Keith develop and mature, to say the least. You see, back in 3rd grade, those two loved to fight. They would call each other names, steal the other’s lunch, mess up the other’s notebooks, and all sorts. They were always jumping on each other’s backs, trying to bring the other one down. It was not until 8th grade that they decided to become ‘big boys’ and act like proper teenagers. So, they stopped fighting, stopped name-calling, stopped trying to make the other trip when they’d cross paths in the hallway. 

And Keith was proud of that. He  _ finally  _ grew up. Not only did he help himself mature, but he also helped James. Now, they’re not  _ as  _ close as Keith is with Hunk, Katie, and Nyma, but they’re on pretty good terms.

Thank god. Keith would absolutely  _ not  _ survive high school with a bully. 

Muscle memory kicks in and Keith reaches his arm back, feeling the soft material of his backpack before landing on a spot that’s way too familiar: a red string tied on one of the zipper’s pull tabs. 

Kinda cliche, right? Well, for Keith, it isn’t. That red string was given by his Shiro, before he went on his first date with Adam. Here’s how the story goes: that string was a remnant of the materials Shiro used for one of his projects. It stayed there, at the bottom of his backpack, for who knows how long. The day he met Adam, after showing him directions around the campus, Shiro decided to clean out his bag. Underneath all the notebooks and empty pens, he found that string. 

Shiro’s your stereotypical gay guy—he sees something straight out of a romance movie, he believes it. So, in the exact words he told Keith, “ _ this string led me to Adam. So keep it around wherever you go, because it might lead you to the one you  _ really _ love, too. _ ”

Keith laughed at first, but then he reached out to grab the string and instantly felt a tug.

The tug that felt  _ exactly  _ the same way his heart whooshed at the sight of Lance.

As he exits the library doors and steps out into the hallway, he twists the string into his finger. 

A person who calls out from behind him makes him let go.

“Hey!” 

Keith turns around, and as if he’s still holding on to the red string, a sudden pull is felt at his heartstrings. 

It’s Lance. He’s waving. Oh dear god, he’s waving. Is he waving at Keith? Is there someone behind Keith he’s waving at?

Keith looks behind him to see if anyone’s there, but it’s just an empty hallway.

“Hey! Man, do you reject people this easily?” Lance says. Keith has no idea how or why, but Lance’s voice reminds him of a beach and the calm, retreating waves. It’s… calming. In a sense. 

If Keith’s lungs could shrink into the sizes of two raisins, he’s pretty sure they just did. He doesn’t know it, but his mouth is hanging open, a tint of red in his cheeks.

_ He’s… cute. _

“Umm, no?” Keith tries to say. He stands completely still, eyes blown like he’s seen a ghost. “Not usually. No.”

“Then why’d you just see through me just now?” Lance asks, putting a hand in his jean pocket and stepping closer to Keith. At this point, they’re about 4 feet away from each other. Keith could still fit a few bibles in between them, if he wanted to. It’s a safe watching distance.

“Uhh…”

“Know what? Don’t answer that.” Lance reassures, waving his hands in a dismissive gesture. 

Keith spots a blue astronaut helmet on his denim jacket. That’s a nice touch. Wonder if it means something?

“Your—your pin’s nice…?” Keith mutters. He’s clearly not in his own mind. Something about this boy makes his heart flutter. 

Is that bad? No, no. It can’t be.

Lance looks down on his jacket, smiling, before glancing back up at Keith. “Hm. Yeah. My sister gave it to me.”

“It mean something?” Keith feels as if they’ve just entered a game of 20 questions without both of them knowing. But Keith’s interested. No, not because he looks…  _ attractive,  _ or whatever, but because he needs to know if his essay will beat Lance’s. It has to. 

Lance takes another step closer. 3 feet. “Yeah, it does, but I’ve never told that to anyone.”

“Oh, sorry—”

“And just because you look flustered doesn’t give you an exception, pretty boy.” the way Lance says those words feel like Keith’s red string wrapping around his heart and pulling so tightly that it makes the whole world run out of oxygen. 

Keith says a silent prayer to the plants to work faster. 

But Lance winks. 

_ What. The. Fuck.  _

His heart is cut in half. The string pulled too tight. Damn.

Keith’s as red as a freshly opened pack of kool-aid. But he figures that two can play at this game, and he’s not about to lose. 

“Pretty sure it’s something I won’t be interested in, anyway.” he lifts his head higher. This time, he’s the one to step closer. 2 feet. 

Oh shit. Is he… flirting?

“Didn’t even wanted to tell you in the first place.” Lance smirks. 

Keith can feel the string again. 

“What’re you out here for then?” 

“Need someone to walk me to physics.” Lance looks around the hallways, squinting to read the directions posted on the walls.

“Oh.” Keith says, a little dazed. “Mrs. Montgomery?”

“She the one with the long face all the time?” 

Keith snorts. “Yeah, I think so. She’s just a floor up from here. Let me take you.”

* * *

 

“Thanks for dropping me off,” Lance reaches out his hand, “see you in the halls...?”

Keith stares at his hand for a while, and he thinks about how it would feel in his. Those long, slender fingers that just look  _ too  _ perfect and pure impossible. But Keith reaches out too, their palms meeting, and the string is pulled tight in between them. He shakes Lance’s hand. After an up and a down, they let go. The string slacks.

“Keith,” he says. “I’m Keith.”

“Hi,” the new boy replies, “I’m Lance.”

* * *

 

Fortunately for Keith, Friday rolls around quicker than expected. The whole week passed in such a blur, Keith could barely remember what happened for the last 2 days. All he really cared about was Tuesday.

And the essay competition, right. The essay competition. The one that he’s going to win. For sure.

“Thank you, Principal Alfor,” Mr. Smythe says, bringing a microphone to his mouth. He usually does the announcements for the assemblies at the gym, but the principal decided to personally congratulate the drill team for their amazing halftime performance at the first game last week. 

“As we all probably know, the annual essay writing competition was held last Tuesday,” Smythe announces. The crowd relaxes, breaking into small murmurs. “And I am so incredibly gleeful to announce the winners of the said competition.”

Everyone in the gym—from the freshmen to seniors—break out into a series of loud claps and cheers. Some call out Keith’s name, some call out James’. But a certain percentage of the crowd calls out Lance’s name. Wow. Keith didn’t know Lance was  _ that  _ popular already. 

“Ha. Do you think they’re ready to get absolutely crushed?” Hunk says, nudging Keith’s shoulder. 

Keith breaks out of the daze he didn’t even know he was in. “What?”

“Duh, idiot, you’re  _ so  _ gonna win,” Nyma joins in. She’s braiding a piece of her blonde hair. “I’m not even kidding, like, no one can beat you.”

“We don’t know that yet.” Keith exhales, adjusting in his seat. The bleachers would make his butt hurt so much, that it’ll go completely numb sometimes. He’s glad that he’s going to transfer soon. He can’t wait to give his ass a rest.

Katie leans forward. “What are you so nervous for? You’ve won literally every single contest you’ve been in. This wouldn’t be any different.”

“Yeah. I don’t know why you’re so worried. If there’s anyone who should be worried, it’s me,” Hunk explains. “But, I’m not, ‘cause I’ve accepted defeat a week ago.”

“I don’t know, honestly.” Keith shrugs. “I get this feeling like someone’s gonna beat me. That’s not gonna be good on my extracurricular record.”

“Oh, shut up, man. You’re speaking nonsense.” Nyma shakes her head. “Look, Smythe’s about to announce third place.”

The four all look towards the basketball court, where the faculty is currently on. The VP takes a look at his transcript, smiles, then moves closer to the standing microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Alexa Kingsley is in third!” he exclaims, possibly a little too loud. The crowd cheers, clapping and stomping their feet on the bleachers. 

The Garrison Pilots (as what they are called) have always been supportive of one another. Keith doesn’t know if it’s just his school or all the others, but he’s not complaining. It’s a good support system. 

Keith raises his hands to clap as well, because Alexa is running for the student council secretary. She has the  _ best  _ handwriting in the whole school. Her notes are to die for, literally. Anyone would kill to get their yearbooks signed by her, just because she’s so artistic. She’s also one of the senior members of the drill team. On some occasions, she’ll do backflips and handsprings on the court whenever they have a performance. She’s half Filipino, too. Keith found that out because her mom cooked Adobo when he was over at their house to do a project. Damn, Keith sure misses that Adobo.

Alexa steps down from the bleachers and onto the court, receiving a medal and a certificate. The claps don’t stop until she’s back at her seat. 

“Is everyone ready for the second placer?” Smythe never fails to hype up the crowd. There are roars, shouts, and more claps now. 

“Look, Keith, if you’re not second, then you’re definitely first. Trust me.” Katie says. Keith looks at her, his eyebrows scrunched together because he feels that something’s wrong. Something’s going to go horribly wrong and he isn’t going to win and he’s going to lose a contest for the first time in his life and yeah, that’s okay because you win some, you lose some, and he should learn how to accept defeat especially since he’s going to be in college soon and he should start living up to his life decisions and he should not have a mindset on winning all the time and that’s—

“Keith Kogane!” 

For a solid two seconds after Mr. Smythe announced Keith’s name, the entire gym went dead silent. Someone could drop a needle and it would be heard. Everyone’s faces were open wide in shock because the legendary Keith Kogane? In second place? That stuff only happens once in a blue moon.

But today might be a blue moon day, so the crowd registers the information and finally, after two seconds of utter stillness, everyone stands up and claps. The sound returns, the people all around Keith clapping on his back and saying a lot of ‘congratulations!’. 

Keith’s still in awe, though, and not less are Nyma, Hunk, and Katie. That was unexpected. Keith decides to not make a fool of himself because he’s sure someone’s going to take a picture of his shocked face and it’d be everywhere in less than 5 seconds, so he stands up while the crowd’s screaming his name, and makes his way to the court. 

Some students reach out their hand at the side of the bleachers to give Keith a high five. One of these guys is James. Keith stops.

“I told you, be careful.” he says, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head towards Lance, who’s on the other side of the gym, Keith can see, clapping with a huge smile on his face. His eyes look like stars underneath the white light of the gym, and Keith’s too surprised with the sudden change of events, so he walks down the bleachers carefully, not taking his eyes off Lance.

He  _ does  _ break his gaze when Lance sees him too, giving a little wave.

_ The red string. It’s back. _

Everything’s a blur: his shoes hitting the wooden floor of the court, Mr. Smythe handing him his certificate and medal, the photographers taking pictures for the school paper, climbing up the bleachers, and sitting back where he was before.

Nyma immediately snatches the certificate out of Keith’s hands. “ _ Keith Akira Kogane, 2018 Garrison High Essay Writing Competition,”  _ she reads.

“No no no—”

“ _ Second place.” _

“Ouch,” Katie pouts. 

“So if Keith’s like, the smartest and most talented student to ever join that competition, who came in first?” Hunk asks, lines appearing on his forehead because of thinking too much. Nyma hands Keith his certificate, and Keith just holds it limp in his hands.  _ Nope. Not even gonna bother to look at it. _

“Garrison High, it is my pride and honor to present to you the  _ champion _ ,” visible emphasis, “of this year’s essay writing competition.”

Everyone in the gym drum their feet on the bleachers, giving it a few seconds before Smythe signals them to stop, the drumroll building up the suspense.

“In first place is…”

Keith takes a deep breath. This is it. Whoever’s going to be first, Keith’s gotta beat to the top. There is no way he’s backing down, not when he’s going to apply to colleges. 

“Lance Mcclain!” 

The people ecstatically jump up and down, some sharing high fives, some screaming, most clapping until their hands turn red. Did everyone already know who Lance was? Why was he so popular? He  _ is  _ new, isn’t he?

Keith cranes his neck to look past all the people who look like they’ve finally cured cancer, to see Lance running down the bleachers, high-fiving people as he goes along. 

He reaches Mr. Smythe in the blink of an eye and clearly out of breath. His arm shoots up to wave at everyone watching, and as if the cheers couldn’t get any louder, they just did. 

Just like Alexa and Keith, Lance gets his certificate and a medal, taking pictures with a smile Keith’s too familiar with and—

Wait. Lance has dimples?

Oh, isn’t that precious?

The only thing that’s keeping Keith from folding in on himself, from the red string that snakes around his brain, is the certificate in his hand. If he’s stressed or feeling… something else, he clenches his fists.

But he can’t, since he has a certificate, and he needs it for his compilation at the end of the year. So deep inside him, he’s cursing at the red string, telling it to stay away and loop around someone else’s finger.

So it does. 

Lance, before he could race up the bleachers to go back to his seat, shoots Keith a sly, innocent smile.

And Keith’s tempted to just rip the string off his bag’s zipper because it’s doing things to him, but he figures that it isn’t such a great idea, since Shiro would be devastated and Keith would never find his true love.

He decides to let the string stay—for now.

* * *

 

Seeing Lance in the halls for the next few weeks seem like inexplicably appropriate torture. He’ll be hanging out with friends, mostly people from James’ squad like Ryan Kinkade and Nadia Rizavi. On some days, he’ll be by his locker, looking too heavenly while scouring his books. Keith will pass by and Lance will give him that  _ one  _ smile that makes Keith want to shove the red string into his mouth. 

They share a few words during class (specifically chemistry, because they’re in the same lab group) during lunch, and after homeroom. Nothing big though, just “ _ how’s your day’s _ ” and “ _ you got any snacks left _ ” which Lance usually sparks up. 

Keith’s still keeping a close eye on him though, because Lance’s grades are definitely not joking. They’re almost as close to Keith’s, which makes Keith worry all too much. Thanks to Lance, Keith’s spending more hours studying when he comes home from school. On some nights, he’ll stay up until 11, studying for a quick recap the day after. 

It’s doing him justice, though. He gets perfect scores more often than before, he recites a lot in class, and he finishes solving math problems 5 minutes before everyone else. Last year, he was only 2 minutes ahead of everybody. Things have changed.  _ A lot. _

He gathers as much information as he could, promptly getting Nyma to speak a lot more than she should be, taking up extra time at lunch, but that’s okay. 

James also shares what he can. He gives Keith Lance’s scores on tests, his recitation points, his conduct grade, everything he can supply. Keith’s thankful, handing James a Kit-Kat bar one day before 4th period. Just a small gesture, but Keith knows that Kit-Kat is James’ absolute favorite. 

Over the course of Kit-Kat’s and hiding in corners to stay quiet, Keith has been informed that Lance’s goal is to be the top student. That’s it—everything else, the quizzes, contests and other stuff, falls right under. What Lance wants to happen is to not necessarily  _ beat  _ Keith at his own game, but just leave a legacy before he goes to college.

And man, if there is anything Keith can do to keep that legacy from being fulfilled, he’s doing it now. 

Because Shiro’s in the process of sending Keith his finished banners for his student body president campaign that’s officially starting the next day. All are aesthetically pleasing, just the correct mix of colors. Keith silently thanks god for letting Shiro be an graphic design student. It works well. 

“ _ Remind me, who are you up against _ ?” Shiro asks through Keith’s phone.

“Uhhh how many times do I have to remind you?” Keith rolls his eyes. “It’s Lance. He’s new.”

The word still feels foreign on his lips, like opus that still needs questioning. But it’s there, and he can’t take it away. 

_ Lance. That’s a nice name. _

“ _ Ohhh… _ ” Shiro says. Keith can imagine him nodding his head. 

“Yeah. Ohhh.”

“ _ Is he cute? _ ” 

Keith’s fingers stop on his trackpad, he stares at his phone on the desk, the screen glowing with a picture of Shiro during last year’s Pride March and an end call button. 

He wants to chuck it across the room.

“ _ You’re not answering Keithhhhhh… _ ”

“He isn’t! No way in  _ hell,  _ Shiro,” Keith quickly responds. He tries to scroll through the banners once again, to get them ready for printing, but something stops him.

It isn’t like, a physical thing, more of an emotional thing. Something internal. Something that’s inside him and…  _ oh _ .

He catches himself in the reflection of the small mirror on his desk. His cheeks are bright red. 

_ Fuck. _

“ _ Psssh. I get the feeling that you’re not telling me something… _ ” Shiro states. 

“I’m not telling you anything! Just… let me print the banners in peace, pretty please? I still have an english test tomorrow,” Keith stands up from his chair, walking over to the printer just beside his study table. 

“ _ Okay. I’ll leave you to it. Good luck with beating Lance.” _

Keith pushes in the paper at the opening, clicking “print” on his laptop.

“Good luck with college.” He ends the call. 

Last Friday, he found out that he’s competing against Lance for the president position when Mr. Smythe announced the candidates for the student council. Everyone practically held their breaths when it came to the announcement of the presidents. 

And everyone also jumped up and down in happiness when Keith and Lance’s names were called. 

Keith didn’t know what to feel. The only thing that he had to worry about prior to the announcement was getting grades higher that Lance’s. Now that he’s in Keith’s game, Keith has something much bigger than grades to worry about. 

From the start of the year, he’s focused on being the president. Nothing’s going to stop him from doing that, not even Lance’s legacy.

So, Keith unlaces the red string from the zipper and stuffs it into a duffel bag that he rarely uses. It isn’t gone for good because hey, Shiro will flip out, but it’s there: in a bag in his closet, only to be gotten when the time has come. 

Because Keith isn’t looking for a soulmate right now. He’s looking to win the position of student body president.

And no matter how cute Lance is, or how smart Lance is, or how charming Lance is, all red things aside, Keith’s going to win. 

He’s pretty damn sure.

* * *

 

 

“That’s all of them,” Katie rubs her hands against each other, walking towards Keith and Hunk at the school lobby.

“You sure? You got them everywhere, right?” Keith asks. He’s running his thumb over a spot on his index finger, the one he used while stapling his posters on literally  _ everything _ —the walls, the floor, the lockers, the doors. It’s red, and from Keith’s point of view, it’s gonna get bruised by tomorrow.

“Yeah, I got them everywhere. Stop being so paranoid, man.” Katie gets stray hair out of her face. The wind’s particularly strong at this time of day, 2 pm on a Wednesday, an hour before homeroom. 

“Me too,” Hunk says. “I got them on every single bathroom stall. Every. Single. One.”

“Even the girls’?” Keith raises his eyebrows. 

“I gave him a hand,” Nyma says. “Also, I’ve seen like, a bunch of people look at your posters. From where I stand, it looks like you’ve got a head start.”

Keith looks around, eyeing the walls and doors to see if there’s anything else other than his posters. And there are, in fact, other propaganda—there’s James’ minimalistic posters for Vice President, Alexa’s geeky references, Ina’s free pens, and a  _ lot  _ more. 

Except, there’s one thing missing.

“Hey, is it just me, or does Lance not have posters or anything?” Keith squints, turning back to face his friends. 

Katie’s nose wrinkles. “Nope, not just you. I’ve been putting up your posters for an hour or so, and I haven’t seen anything of his.”

Nyma brings out her phone, and begins swiping through some photos she took. “Just James’, Ryan’s, Alexa’s, Nadia’s, Ina’s, Vivienne’s—oh my god, check this one out.”

Everyone instantly crowds in on Nyma’s phone, which is displaying a picture of one of Nadia’s secretary posters. It reads:  _ She’s 5’2 and she’ll represent you. Vote Nadia Rizavi for Secretary! _

“No offense, but, like, she has no chance against Alexa.” Hunk leans back. 

“Shut up, Hunk! She might be lurking anywhere…” Katie grins. 

“Stop it, you two.” Nyma puts her phone back in her pocket. “Keith’s right, Lance hasn’t posted anything.”

“Yet.” Keith’s eyes narrow. “He might be onto something, we’re not sure.”

Hunk blinks. “Like what? Maybe he’s just… I don’t know, given up?”

“He doesn’t look like one to do that.” Keith shakes his head. “I mean… could he possibly give up?”

“Why don’t you ask Griffin?” Katie suggests. “They’ve been hanging a lot lately, maybe he’s got some intel.”

Keith’s eyes twinkle, as if he’s got the right plan. “I could. He  _ is  _ coming to my house tonight for a worksheet in physics.” 

“That’s great! Tomorrow, we’ll know  _ everything  _ Lance has got up his sleeves.” Nyma beams.

* * *

 

 

“James did  _ not  _ tell me about this.” 

Not only was he deprived of information from the night before, Keith is bewildered as to what he and his friends see the minute they walk through the front doors of the school. His eyes widened at the sight of a long table filled with  _ all  _ the snacks he would see at a grocery store—Reese’s, Pringles, Cheetos, Doritos, and a lot more. There are students running towards the table, picking up anything their heart desires as they go along, stuffing the food into their backpacks to be enjoyed at a later time. Some open bags of chips the instant they get their hands on them, loading their mouths with the salty taste. 

Keith wasn’t only dazed by the snacks, oh no, his pupils flared at the sight of the people behind the table, the ones giving out the snacks. 

Because it was Ryan, Nadia, Vivienne, and  _ Lance. _

It had to be Lance. 

Keith’s stomach could fall out at any moment.

There he was, a big smile plastered on his cheeky face, eyes filled with delight as he threw pack after pack of Oreos to students who reached out. 

“Man, should we still trust that guy?” Hunk asks, nervously darting his eyes around. 

“Who, Lance? I don’t—”

“I think the big guy means  _ me, _ ” 

Everyone’s startled as James walks up from behind them, his face containing the same shocked expression. 

“And no, I don’t think even  _ I  _ could trust myself.” James finishes, craning his neck to see at the table better. “Man, are those Oreos?”

“Wha—is there something you didn’t tell me?” Keith asks, eyebrows shooting up. 

“Yo, I told you, I’m not one to keep secrets.” he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Lance has definitely  _ not _ told me anything about running for president.” 

A million wires connect and disconnect inside Keith’s brain. He’s analyzing it—the whole situation. Lance doesn’t have posters or any of that promotional bullshit anywhere, but he came up with this… friendly act? Out of nowhere? It’s like he has a bunch of secrets tucked away—

Keith’s thinking is cut short when the bell rings. The students at the table hurry up in picking out their snacks, waving to Lance as they run off to class. 

Katie and Hunk disappear without a trace, probably because they don’t want to get another lecture from Mr. Iverson. 

“Sunshine, wanna walk with me?” James hollers. At first, Keith is utterly confused because… did James mean him? Did James just call him ‘sunshine?’ But Nyma quickly moves to James’ side, looping her arm around his, and Keith’s back to earth. 

James salutes Keith, for some odd reason, and walks away with Nyma. Keith waves back, and focuses on Lance—again. 

As Keith stalks closer to the table, Ryan, Nadia, and Vivienne grab their bags and head to class. Lance is about to do the same, and that’s when he spots Keith.

“Oh, hey. Did you want anything?” he asks, voice as smooth as the boys in the movies. 

If Keith pulls everything together—and no, not that red string that he chucked away—whatever’s going on  _ here  _ is a movie. In 3rd grade, he learned about the elements of a story. The introduction, rising action, climax, falling action, and the resolution. If Keith’s life is a movie—and who is he kidding, it is—then it’s right at the rising action. 

Except all the conflicts are introduced all at the same time and it’s too fucking overwhelming. 

“What? No.” Keith presses his lips together. “I mean, no, I didn’t want anything. Because I… you know, I ate breakfast and…”

“That’s cute.”

“What?” Keith blinks. He swears he’s not blushing. He couldn’t be.

“When you talk too much. It’s cute.” the corners of Lance’s mouth quirk up. He leans his elbows on the table, partially sticking his butt out in the process. 

And Keith’s not one to be staring but…  _ holy shit. _

“Uhh… thanks?” Keith’s lower lip trembles. “Anyway, why…  _ this?” _

Lance looks around, seeing Keith gesture to the table, and the big banner above Lance that says:  _ Donut forget to vote for Lance! _

“ _ This _ ?” Lance giggles and swings his backpack over his shoulder. “Just a small act of kindness, Kogane. Can’t go too far.”

“But you have no posters. Anywhere.”

“Don’t need that bullshit.” Lance starts to walk away. “If you’re into it though, be my guest. No one’s stopping you.”

Keith’s jaw drops, dazed. “What’s your next stunt?”

Lance just grins. “Don’t worry about me. May the best idiot win.”

And Keith doesn’t know whether he should feel attacked or not, but everything in his world goes to shit when Lance winks again.

How many times has he done that? Is it even legal?

“Get to class, Mister Pres! Don’t be a bad influence!”

Keith jumps as Mr. Smythe sneaks up behind him. 

“I’m not—”

“Then  _ SCOOT! _ ”

* * *

 

 

Nyma takes a loud slurp of her juice box, before slamming it down onto the table, causing chocolate milk to dot the white surface. “Oh no, Keith, you have  _ every  _ right to worry about him.”

Keith’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s what I’m saying! If I don’t give a single fuck for anything he does, I won’t know how to beat him.”

“And that works… how?” Hunk asks, leaning over.

“ _ Ughh… _ ” Keith tilts his head back. “I told you, I always have to be five steps in front of him. So when he plans something, I need to know exactly what it is and how he’s gonna do it so I can do something… I don’t know, better!”

Katie puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder, a thing she does almost every day. “ _ Keith _ , buddy, that…  _ thing  _ Lance pulled off with the snacks at the lobby yesterday could be the  _ only  _ good thing on his campaign plans.” 

“So you’re saying—”

“What I’m saying,” Katie squints. “Is that Lance here is just trying to get ‘ya nervous.” 

Hunk shrugs. “She’s right, I mean, look at you now, man.”

Keith realizes that he’s been picking at the sleeves of his red sweater, and immediately pulls his hands under the table. He looks around the cafeteria to see if anyone saw that, but he’s relieved when he sees everyone minding their own businesses. 

“Look, I  _ may  _ be nervous—”

“You are.” Nyma reassures. 

“Okay, Nyma,” Keith glares at her. She raises her arms in surrender. “I  _ am  _ nervous. I’ll admit it. But it won’t stop me from coming up with something that’s gonna but his snacks to shame.”

Hunk eyebrows waggled. “And what’s that? You gonna do everyone’s english essays in return they vote for you?”

“No, genius.” Keith grins. “Have you three heard of the Ring Pop craze?”

* * *

 

“ _ Keith Kogane. Student Body President. Now that has a nice  _ ‘ring’ _ to it! _ ” James’ eyes narrows as he reads the text on the Ring Pop wrapper. “You really can’t think of anything else?”

“Ring Pops are cheap. Plus, everyone kinda is all over them now, so…” Keith explains, taping another piece of paper with his slogan onto a Ring Pop. He throws them into the finished pile at the foot of his bed. 

“Didn’t even bother to consult me.” Shiro flings 2 finished Ring Pops into the pile.

“Oh, sorry, I guess you were too busy with college.” Keith shrugs.

Shiro’s voice goes higher. “When did I say that?”

“Two days ago!” Keith holds his arms out. “ _ Really really sorry Keith, but I can’t help you with anything right now, I have an economics test tomorrow and I haven’t studied.”  _ He mocks.

James snorts. Shiro sneers at him. 

“First of all, that’s  _ nothing  _ like me,” Shiro complains, cutting through the air with his hand. “And second, I wasn’t studying for an economics test.”

Keith’s eyes almost pop out. “You weren’t? Why the hell did you not help me then?”

“A…” Shiro starts, unable to complete the word. “A… a…”

“What, you gonna sneeze or somethin’?” James looks closer. Nope, he isn’t going to sneeze.

“ _ Adam.”  _ Keith finishes for his brother. “He means Adam.”

James pulls his head back, averting his gaze to the pile of Ring Pops. “Ohhhh…”

“Thanks.” Shiro smiles at Keith, his eyes blazed with pure hatred. “Real thanks.”

“Oh, no problem. Thanks for not helping me.” Keith replies, tucking a stray hair behind his ear before going back to working on the Ring Pops. 

“Hmm. You think this is gonna work?” James asks, pulling the tape dispenser closer to him. 

Keith shrugs. “It has to. It’ll be a great comeback for what Lance did.”

“Why are you so affected by that?” Shiro tosses one into the growing pile. “Get over it already. This isn’t about beating him, remember? It’s about winning. Focus on yourself.”

“You see, those were only some of the words I would’ve heard two days ago if you weren’t busy  _ fooling around  _ with—”

Shiro didn’t let Keith finish that sentence, tackling him to the ground and putting a hand over his mouth. James doesn’t bother, just continues to tape labels on the Ring Pops. Keith bites Shiro’s hand, but the older one doesn’t even flinch—he’s used to Keith biting his hand all the time, because this scene was a recurring one before Shiro moved for college. 

“I have done seventy, Shiro’s done eighty, and Keith has done… sixteen.” James reads aloud, clicking his tongue as he eyes the checklist. “Good job, pres.”

* * *

 

 

The plan  _ did  _ work, so to speak, because Katie’s the one who’s in charge of checking the student-to-Ring-Pop-ratio, and according to her math, it’s 1:5.

5 Ring Pops per student.

_ This is it.  _ Keith thinks. This is exactly what he’s going to need to snag more votes. 

Keith, Nyma, Hunk, and Katie get 50 Ring Pops each to give out. Before the bell even rings, the 200 Ring Pops are all gone. Absolutely nothing left. 

And the funny thing? Even the teachers are grabbing some, since—and yes, Keith did his research—Ring Pops were big in the 70’s. 

_ Score. _

“Anddddd I was planning to give out some, but I guess all the boxes are empty?” James greets as he walks up to the four who’s folding up the boxes that once contained hundreds of candies.

“You’re right!” Nyma exclaims when she sees him, running up to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. “We sold out  _ so  _ quick, baby!”

“Oh yeah?” James looks up at her, like he’s looking at a star. “Sorry I didn’t get to help out.”

“What are you talking about? It’s fine!” she laughs, before leaning down to catch James’ lips in hers. It’s too much saliva sharing, so Keith looks away.

And when he does, it’s Lance who’s face to face with him, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a sly grin.

“I’m impressed, Kogane.” he says, toying with one of the folded boxes in Keith’s arms. “Didn’t know you’d pull  _ this  _ off.”

“Believe it or not, Mcclain, we’re on the same level now.” Keith glares, pushing the sound of Nyma and James’ lips clashing like waves on the shore.

“Oh, don’t worry, I believe it.” Lance smirks for the hundredth time, and it’s  _ always  _ there, but every time Keith catches him doing it, his stomach does flips.

And also for the hundredth time, he’s not sure why.

A part of him bit Shiro’s hand yesterday to get back at him for the stupid red string. The imaginary coincidental piece of strewn up fibres dipped in red coloring that was  _ just  _ from a school project. That stupid thing. 

“Worried you’ll lose?” Keith says as Lance steps back, getting ready to turn around and walk to class. 

Lance just shrugs. “Nah. Worried you’ll win and live with a shit ton of pride.” 

Keith’s eyes blow up. 

“Watch your back, pretty boy. ‘Cause I am.” 

Just like that, like how the giant meteor killed the dinosaurs billions of years ago, the twisty feeling is back in Keith’s stomach. But he doesn’t wanna throw up, no, that’s gross. He’s aching to do something… something he’s done  _ for sure  _ before. What could it—

Before his thought could finish, his right hand instinctively reaches up behind him, tugging at his backpack’s zipper before realizing…  _ oh _ . He removed the red string days ago, can’t he remember that?

The clouds retreat from his vision and it’s just in time to see Lance’s figure go up the stairs down the hall. Funnily enough, Keith saw him through the sea of students who are feeding off Ring Pops and talking about the football game. He saw Lance through a swarm of other people. He saw Lance. He just did.

Wearing the denim jacket that had the  _ stupid  _ blue astronaut helmet.

* * *

 

 

“What’s he up to? I’m serious, James, I  _ have  _ to know,” Keith whispers as he pours the dishwashing liquid into the beaker. He tilts the container until the mixture reaches the 30 mL mark. 

“Now, stir all the elements in the beaker with your glass rods— _ Nadia! _ Be careful!” Mrs. Montgomery jumps, causing most of the class to flinch at her soprano-like voice. Except Keith and James, they were far too busy with other, more important stuff. 

James picks up the glass rod and begins to mix, holding the beaker steady with one hand and stirring the compound with the other. “I’m telling you, I have no idea what he’s gonna do next. Just… what did he say to you?”

“Next step, grab a pinch of salt and sprinkle it into the beaker.”

“He said to ‘ _ watch my back _ ’,” Keith says, purposely leaving out the ‘ _ pretty boy’  _  that Lance threw in there, just to get his nerves in a mix. “I’ve been watching it. Nothing’s happening so far.”

“He meant—”

“Yeah I know what he meant.”

James stops stirring. “You’re scared.”

Keith taps his fingers absentmindedly on the tiled countertop. “No I’m not. Who said that?”

“Oh my god, stop denying everything. You’re so fucking petrified that he’s gonna come up with something bigger and better that’s gonna get all the people to vote for him.” James takes a look at Keith before mixing again. “That’s why you’re scared.”

Keith huffs, hangs his head down, and squeezes his eyes shut. “What am I supposed to feel, then?” 

“What Shiro said the other day: stop thinking so much about Lance and focus on yourself. Buddy, you’re missing out on all the good stuff.”

“What ‘ _ good stuff’ _ ?” Keith lifts his head. It’s hard to stop thinking about Lance, especially when his winks keep repeating in Keith’s head over and over again. He sees his stupid grin, his stupid brown hair, his stupid glossy eyes, his stupid denim jacket with the stupid blue astronaut helmet, the stupid red string that Keith believes is the reason for all of  _ this _ —

“Keep mixing until you see a change of color.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” James hands the beaker and glass rod to Keith. “Maybe like how out of all the students in the senior year,  _ you  _ were one of the people who fit the extremely high standards for becoming the student body president.”

“Yeah, and the other person who  _ also  _ met those extremely high standards is Lance,” the glass rod hits the sides of the beaker. “Not even  _ you _ ! Lance! Out of all people!”

“Keep your voice down, Keith.” Alexa calls from the table opposite theirs. 

“Relax, man.”

“You know I can’t do that right now.”

“Just—just hear me out.” James takes the beaker away from Keith because he’s starting to stir too vigorously. Without looking, James starts to mix again. “Whatever Lance does will just feed his ego. Stop being a part of what makes him go bigger all the time.”

“What are you saying?”

James blinks at Keith. “What I’m saying, Keith, is that you gotta stop trying to beat him all the time, because it’s just gonna go on an endless loop of your idea and his idea and your idea and his idea and sooner or later, it’s not even about winning as the president anymore, it’s about beating each other.”

“And… what should I do?”

“Stop contending. Let him build up his pride, before snatching it all back down.”

Keith leans on his elbows. “How do I do that?”

“Kogane and Griffin—”

“You’re the top student, not me. You’re smart enough to think of what’s gonna boost you up the ranks.”

“Kogane and Griffin, stop—”

“At least an idea? I’m not  _ that  _ smart to think about something on the spot!”

“Kogane and Griffin!”

“ _ WHAT?”  _ Keith and James shout in unison. Turns out, it’s Mrs. Montgomery who’s trying to catch their attention. Her eyes widen, knuckles turning white at her side, before pointing to the beaker in James’ hand.

The mixture is purple.

When did it turn purple?

Keith looks around the lab to see what color the other pairs’ turned up with. Almost all of them are a bright blue, the same color of the dish soap.

How the  _ fuck _ did it turn purple?

“Too much mixing,” Mrs. Montgomery walks closer, bringing James’ hand with the beaker closer to her face. “But, I have to give you extra points, since you pretty much predicted our next lesson.” 

Keith and James exchange looks, startled from what happened. Then, James sets down the beaker and gives Keith a high-five. 

Chemistry’s the last class of today. About 16 hours from that moment, Keith will find out what Lance’s next move is. 

It won’t be long before he’ll call checkmate. 

But before that, he’ll have to think of a master plan first.

* * *

 

 

At his locker, 10 minutes before first period starts, Keith is disrupted from stuffing his physics textbook into his back. How? 

“ _ Yeah, we the word up on the street... _ ” 

The school’s sound system has never made Keith jump so much before. He’s used to the daily announcements, but hearing Jake Miller’s voice at 8 in the morning? More frightening than finding out you forgot to do your homework.

“ _ They talk, talk, talk ‘bout you and me…” _

Why the hell is this song playing? 

_ “Let’s start some rumors, rumors…” _

His mouth is hanging open when he hears it: the sound of students screaming in excitement slowly approaching the hallway that Keith’s in. It’s like a swarm of bees heading your way; you panic as it gets louder with every passing second. 

Keith’s scared.  _ Why are there people screaming? With the music on? What? _

The screams are getting closer.  _ “And no, I don’t know where they came from....” _

And closer.  _ “But I’m always down to make some…” _

The first student makes a complete 90 degree angle when turning the corner, followed by what seems to be 20 more. They have banners—which Keith can’t decipher because they’re running too fast—and they’re throwing out...something. 

Keith swiftly moves out of the way before he gets trampled on, pushing his back to his locker. The students are now running past him, like neon lights in his field of vision. 

_ “They saw me sneaking out your crib last night…” _

Fortunately, Keith catches a piece of whatever it is they are throwing. 

And he’s stunned when he sees the familiar black font that reads: “ _ Keith Kogane. Student Body President. Now that has a nice  _ ‘ring’ _ to it!” _

No. 

No no no no no.

This is Lance’s doing. 

_ “Caught me driving through your hood…” _

A Ring Pop wrapper falls to the ground right beside Keith. 

_ That asshole. _

Lance has just turned the corner, jogging while keeping up with some conversations around him. 

Keith sidesteps to get a little closer, trying to not get caught in the flow of screaming students. His eyes never leave Lance, following and following until—

“Hey! Watch it!” Lance stumbles as Keith snatches his arm and yanks him out of the crowd. “Oh.”

_ “Paparazzi got me good…” _

“Why the hell are you throwing around my wrappers?” he interrogates, his hand clamping down on Lance’s arm. For sure, his nails are digging into the poor boy’s skin through his blue sweater. 

Lance winces at the pain, but Keith doesn’t let go because he breaks out into a grin— _ again _ . 

“No need to be harsh, Kogane.” he says, leaning his shoulder against a locker. The crowd continues to pass by. “This is a clean-up mission.”

_ “We like stars, yeah baby, they astronomers…” _

“What? Throwing trash  _ everywhere  _ is definitely  _ not  _ a clean-up mission.” Keith’s eyebrows furrow. 

“I’ll explain, but first, let me go? Maybe? If it’s fine with you.” Lance looks down at his arm. It could be bleeding already, who knows. 

Keith hesitates for a second, meeting with Lance’s stunning brown eyes, before releasing his death grip. 

“Thanks, it can breathe now.” Lance holds his arm close to his body. 

_ “Look at everybody camping out with they binoculars…” _

Keith raises his eyebrows. 

“Oh! It’s a clean-up mission because… because your stupid Ring Pop wrappers are all over the place. I got some people to pick them up and throw them everywhere, so whoever throws out the most wrappers in the proper bins win lollipops. Isn’t that great?”

This is what he’s scared of: Lance’s next big move. Keith looks down at the tiled floor, contemplating whether or not he should keep up this fight. 

_ “All up in the headlines, me and the wifey…” _

Keith feels Lance’s hand on his shoulder. “Don’t take it too harsh, buddy.”

“I’m not!” Keith snaps his head up, surprising Lance. “It’s just… whatever. Go do what you want.” He turns on his heel to walk away, but Lance spins him back around so they’re at eye level again. 

“Hey, are you mad at me?” Lance asks, pointing a finger to his chest. His eyes are lined with doubt. 

“ _ But let them gossip girl, Blake Lively…” _

Keith shakes his head slowly. “I’ve been mad at you ever since you set foot in this school. Forget it.”

This time he manages to walk away. It feels like a douche move, Keith knows that, but what else was he to do? Scream in Lance’s face again? That’s too childish. He needs to handle this like Shiro would. 

His steps are heavier than cement blocks, dragging him down to the floor with every foot away from Lance. He just wants a good, clean fight. Is that too much to ask?

“ _ I don’t know where they’re getting their news…” _

Keeping his head down, Keith notices the confetti Lance and his  _ supporters  _ were throwing around just two minutes ago. Except, they aren’t regular, thin and holographic confetti. No, they had words written on them. A message. 

“ _ But I’m not mad if tonight it comes true…” _

He stops walking and leans down, picking a single confetti off the ground. He brings it to the light, reading the text. 

It said:

 

_ Hey you! Thanks for supporting me, Lance, in becoming student body president. It means a lot!  _

_ As a token of my appreciation, I’m hosting a party at my house: 3028 Oriande St., biggest house on the block! _

_ It’s gonna be this Friday, 6pm. No parents.  _

_ Thanks again! I expect you to be there ;) _

_ \--Lance _

 

This idiot’s hosting a party?

Oh no.

Keith’s fired up.

This is it. This is his chance to execute his carefully thought of, perfectly calculated, makes-con-artists-want-to-resign master plan. 

_ “Oh, let’s start some rumors…” _

Keith will.

“ _ I’mma start some rumors with you, with you...” _

He’s going to be  _ great  _ friends with Lance. 

“ _ I wanna start some rumors with you.” _

* * *

 

 

“Hey! Keith’s here!”

Someone’s voice rings through the front yard of Lance’s house, probably causing a few bushes to shred leaves. A bunch of people outside scream in excitement, running up to Keith—who’s just gotten out of Nyma’s car—to give him high-fives and handshakes. He feels like the party’s about to begin now that he’s there.

Lance did not lie: his house  _ is  _ the biggest on the block. It’s not  _ that  _ obvious, since all houses on Oriande St. are downright humongous, but there’s still a noticeable difference from all the others. Lance’s house has 4 floors, from what Keith could see. Wooden beams support flat and aesthetic roofs, bricks accent the walls, the windows are supremely clear, as if they were just cleaned yesterday, and a set of stairs leading up to the giant front door. It’s a sight to see. 

“Damn. I didn’t know this dude was like, a millionaire.” Hunk says in awe, craning his neck to see all of the house at once. 

Keith walks alongside him, up the stone steps. “Yeah, I knew he was rich, just not…  _ this  _ rich.”

A head pops out the front door right before they could enter. Hunk gets startled.

“Oops! Sorry!” it’s Alexa. “Keith! Fancy seeing you here.”

Fact: Keith does  _ not  _ go to parties. It’s not that he utterly despises them, he likes the idea, although he’d rather be spending his time being more… productive, least to say. 3 hours of talking to friends is far apart from studying for a test or doing homework. 

Typical honor student. 

“Thought I’d be a good sport,” he says, giving away a smile. It’s halfway true, since he doesn’t want people thinking that he did not go because he hates Lance, but there’s a whole other thing. 

His master plan. This is the only time for him to actually get Lance involved. 

This won’t be hard for Keith, since he’s faked a lot of things before. One time, he got ‘excused’ out of band practice because he had a ‘dentist appointment’ to go to. He actually studied the whole evening. Wait, is that still called faking?

“Well then, welcome to the party!” Alexa pushes the door wider, revealing  _ all  _ the things you would see at a high school house party. 

Teenagers talking in groups, red cups in their hands, swaying their hips to the music. Far across the huge living room, Keith could spot the dining table full of snacks and drinks. There are streamers across the beams on the ceiling, making the place a whole lot colorful. 

Keith can get through this. This will be like writing an essay. Simple, easy, effortless.

For the first time in a few weeks, he’s aching for his red string.

He visualizes it in his mind—wherever it is in his room. It’s spinning, it’s loose, and it’s still red. 

But it pulls taught, and he’s out of his daydream.

“Woooooow! Never thought you’d show up.” Lance is standing in front of him, a cup of… something in his hand. He’s only wearing a plain black shirt tucked into denim jeans, but for some odd reason, he pulls it off perfectly. How does he do that?

“Why? Don’t think I like parties?” Keith’s eyes narrow.

“Uh-huh. Thought you were the stay at home type.” Lance swirls his drink. “Thought wrong.”

Keith manages to keep his gaze on Lance’s soft brown eyes. He’s admiring how his pupils seem to be larger than usual, and how his eyelashes are unmistakably long, and how his eyelids open so gracefully whenever he blinks and—

_ Stop! Stop it Keith! What are you here for? Umm… umm… master plan! Yeah! Go! _

“Hey, d’ya think I could borrow you for a sec?” Keith’s nose crinkles. 

Lance looks around. “Nobody owns me yet, so why not—”

“Where’s your bathroom?”

“What?”

“Your bathroom.”

Lance blinks for a few seconds, seemingly dazed (thanks to the alcohol), before nodding ecstatically and pointing at a door at the far end of the living room. Keith doesn’t hesitate. He grabs Lance by the hand that’s not clutching a cup of who-knows-what, and pulls him through the crowd. They don’t bump into anyone, which is good, since this scene wouldn’t look as pleasing at it seems. Keith clears a straight path to the door about 20 feet away from where they once stood. He reaches it, pulls it open, tosses Lance inside before entering himself and closing the door behind him. 

Lance holds on to the edge of the sink, obviously dazed. “You need to calm down sometimes,”

Keith shrugs. “I wasn’t even walking  _ that  _ fast.”

The red cup Lance was holding 2 seconds ago has now disappeared from his hand. He stares at it blankly. Then something hits him like a sack of bricks, and his eyes blow to the size of planets. He blinks for a few seconds, before smirking. 

_ Oh no.  _

“Why’d you drag me in here, Kogane?” Lance’s eyes glinted as he stared at Keith. 

And on that night, and in that light, Keith thinks that he’s falling for him. 

_ Actually. Literally. Falling. _

“Um…” he tries to compose himself, pushing the thoughts out of his head. 

_ Just for tonight.  _ He has something to take care of. 

Keith shakes his head and leans back on the bathroom door, tilting his head up. “I wanted to make a deal.”

Lance’s eyebrows shoot up. “You gonna sell me drugs or something ‘cause…” he looks around, as if someone was listening to him speak. “That’d be pretty dope—”

“No! No drugs. Just a… an agreement.” Keith pursed his lips. 

“Mmkay. Shoot.”

“From now on, we stop…  _ whatever  _ game we’re playing. The whole student-body-president thing. It’s not making sense anymore.”

“Keep going.”

“All I’m saying is: both of us have to stop with these  _ grand  _ stunts we’re pulling off. Like the snacks, the confetti—”

“The ring pops.” Lance speaks, showing a toothy grin.

“Yeah, and that. We have to stop that. They want a fair fight, not one where we’re literally snatching their votes from themselves. They should decide on their own, without neither one of us forcing them to.”

Lance looks down, rocking back on his heels. He puffs up his cheeks, before letting the air out in one big blow. “I get what you’re trying to say.” 

Keith glazes into his eyes again, and he remembers everything: the essay competition, the blue astronaut helmet, the denim jacket, everything. 

“And I agree. We don’t wanna cause a fight.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“...”

“...”

Keith rests his hand on the doorknob. “Look, I’m gonna head out before they suspect anything—”

“No no no wait!” Lance lunges over, pulling Keith’s hand away. 

His heart tightens. It has before. 

“Why?”

“You can’t just open the door! People out there will see that we’re  _ both  _ in here and… you know.”

Keith stares at him for a few seconds, inputting the words he said into his brain and interpreting them. Yup, he gets it. “Alright. What do you wanna do then?”

“You hide behind the door, and I go out. After five minutes, you follow. See? No traces.” Lance holds up his hands.

Keith nods slowly. “Smart move. Done that with any girls before?”

Lance pushes him to the back of the door, nudging him into the corner. Keith’s comfortable, though, because the tiles are clean, and the air is cold in that bathroom. He likes it. 

“Girls…” Lance twists the doorknob, pulling back to open the door.  _ Fallingforyou  _ by the 1975 is playing outside. “...and guys.”

Before he could go though, before he could leave Keith to wallow by himself in the million-dollar bathroom, he shoots a wink. 

And just like that, he’s gone again. 

Keith’s cheeks are burning up. 

He slams the door shut, locking it before rushing up to the huge mirror and the sink were Lance was standing just a minute ago. 

His reflection is something he has seen before. 

His face is red all over. 

_ Oh. No. _

* * *

 

After five minutes, just like Lance said, Keith steps out.

The environment seems completely foreign, like he’s on another planet. It’s funny how a small chat in a bathroom can change things. The air feels colder, and the faces he sees aren’t familiar. He tries to contain himself, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, walking briskly while scouring face after face for someone he knows. 

Lance isn’t anywhere to be seen, but Keith thanks god when he spots the bright red rose on the back of a bomber jacket—which belongs to Nyma. He quickens his steps, reaching the group without a breath to waste. 

“Oh hey. Where’d you run off to?” Katie asks. 

Keith shakes his head, hoping his friends don’t get the wrong idea. “Had to pee.”

“Glad you’re back,” Hunk begins, shooting Keith a quick smile. “As I was saying, Nadia is  _ totally  _ wearing her mom’s old heels—”

“That’s not possible! They seem to be brand new and fit her perfectly.  _ Totally  _ not her mom’s.” Nyma sticks her nose in the air. 

“I know that, but hear me out!” Hunk argues. 

Keith’s not that interested in the conversation. Why would he be?  _ Heels?  _ Out of all the things they could talk about—they decide to disagree about heels. 

His gaze wanders around the room: to the ambient lighting that seems to radiate off the walls, the paintings on the walls, the abstract-like carpets, the  _ huge  _ pantry, the oven that could probably fit about three turkeys, the marble island in the middle of the kitchen and—

_ Lance _ . He sees Lance.

He’s talking with a girl, but it doesn’t matter.

Many times in the past, Keith has told himself to not stare. But he breaks his promise for the umpteenth time, searching Lance’s face for the features he fell in love with—his brown eyes that resemble the dirt of the Earth he’s standing on, his red lips that are the same shade as Mars, his bright white teeth that mirror the surface of the Moon, his blue jacket like Neptune, and underneath all that, his profound and extraordinary heart that bursts color and emotion like Mercury. 

Keith sees him as the whole galaxy even though he shouldn’t. 

And unlike many times in the past, he doesn’t disagree with himself. Because he’s right. Lance  _ is  _ the whole galaxy—hell—the whole  _ universe  _ even. 

He trails up to Lance’s eyes again, and this time, Lance is looking back at him. 

The girl who’s with him keeps talking, oblivious of the change of focus.

In that moment, Keith swears he can hear the oceans breathe. 

Like a swift wave, Lance licks his lips. The heavens crumble. He grins at Keith. The trees get uprooted.

In the state of panic, Keith babbles. “Drinks! Does anyone want some drinks?”

The three are a bit startled, but Katie recovers quickly. “Uh yeah, I’ll take one.”

“Same here.” Hunk raises his hand. “No alcohol though, my mom can and  _ will  _ smell it.”

“Okay I’ll be right back.”

Just like the tide retreating from the shore, he’s gone.

* * *

 

 

“ _ Cups… cups… cups? No… cups… _ ” Keith mutters to himself, opening every possible drawer and cabinet in the kitchen. Combing shelf after shelf, there were absolutely no cups to be found. So what? Is he gonna pour the drinks in his pockets and bring them to his friends?

He’s startled when there’s a hand on the small of his back, soft and careful like feathers. A body positions itself beside him. 

It’s Lance. For the third time tonight. 

Heat immediately covers Keith’s entire body, spreading from his heartstrings to the tips of his toes. 

“They’re over here,” Lance says, reaching up to open a small cupboard, revealing a ton of glasses and mugs. “Knock yourself out.”

Keith extends his arm to grab two cups, trying to keep his head down to avoid displaying his red cheeks. But he fails to do that, because Lance sees it.

“Hmm. You blushing ‘cause of me, Kogane?” he jokes, leaning an elbow on the counter.

“What if I said yes?” And no, Keith did  _ not  _ know where that came from.

Lance’s nose crinkles, making him an adorable sight to see. “Then I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“At all?”

“At all.”

Silence passes between them, like the fast second when the traffic light turns yellow.

“I gotta say, though…” Lance begins, eyeing Keith up and down. “Red looks good on you.”

Keith couldn’t and wouldn’t say anything, because what  _ would  _ he do, say thank you?

“ _ Lance! Gasolina’s on!”  _ a voice calls from the TV area. The intro starts playing.

“Take it as you wish. See ya ‘round.” he runs away  _ again,  _ leaving Keith with a wink  _ again. _

Again and again and again and again. It’s like routine.

The cups almost slip out of Keith’s sweaty hands. He fills them up with grape juice and heads back over to his friends.

He never saw Lance again that night. But he didn’t need to. Three times were more than enough.

* * *

 

 

“Now, this next announcement will have all of you sitting at the edge of your seats,” Mr. Smythe says into the mic. The whole gym hushes, and the wind passing through the open windows fill the halls.

“I bet you it’s about the academic bowl.” Katie whispers, placing her chin on her hand. 

“Two weeks from now, NYU will be the host school for the STEM Academic Bowl!” 

If you’re thinking that nobody will cheer because well, it’s about studying, and the only thing students hate other than bad weather is studying. But, this is Garrison High, awarded as the smartest high school in Manhattan. So, the students all stand up on their feet, proudly, and clap with all their might. 

Garrison High has won 5 STEMABs before. Including last year’s. If the students who participate this year win, that’s going to be a 3-year streak.

Mr. Smythe’s teeth shine as he smiles unrelentlessly. “I know, I know, how exciting!”

“What’d I tell ‘ya?” Katie nudges Keith, causing his feet to stumble a little. Hunk’s there to catch his almost-fall.

“Woah-ho-ho, no need to bicker. Save up your knowledge for the contest!” he exclaims, stretching his arms out to his sides.

Katie’s eyebrows furrow, clearly confused. She looks around the gym, wondering who Hunk could possibly refer to. “What do you mean, man? I’m not joining this year.”

“What?” Keith and Hunk inquire in unison. 

“Because you know what else is in two weeks? The science fair!” Katie practically screams, her glasses almost falling off her nose. She readjusts them. “I can’t miss my final GH science fair!”

“How ‘bout you, Keith? Any plans of backing out too?” Nyma joins in, raising her eyebrows.

Keith shakes his head. “Nah, I’m joining this year.” he turns his head to face Katie. “ _ And I can’t miss my final STEMAB! _ ”

Whenever Hunk laughs, he does this 90-degree backbend that elongates his stomach. He just did it, forgetting the fact that he’s on the second-to-the-highest bleacher. The three catch him before he could fall. 

Their conversation took  _ way  _ longer than expected, giving Smythe the time to announce the contestants from the freshmen to the juniors. It’s kind of like tradition—2 students get chosen per level, representing the school and being proud of its name. 

“For the seniors, let’s see…” the VP inches closer to the paper in his hand, squinting his eyes to see better. “Oh. People, you will  _ not  _ believe this!”

“What does he mean? Keith? What does he mean?” Hunk worries, looking at Keith with a pale face.

“I don’t know,” Keith replies, eyes darting everywhere.  _ What  _ could  _ Smythe mean? Is Keith out of the game? _

“Representing the seniors… Keith Kogane and Lance Mcclain!” 

Keith might as well pull all of his hair out, walk out of the gym and fall off the Grand Canyon, never to be seen or hear of ever again. But he can’t do that, technically, because all eyes are on him and Lance.

It takes the students a millisecond to realize the curse Smythe vowed upon the two president candidates, before erupting into a series of cheers and whoops and screams.

“Keith and Lance,  _ please  _ do your best to not beat up each other. By the way, you’re sharing a hotel room.”

Keith couldn’t say anything. He’s definitely frozen in place, unable to move or react. His mouth just hangs low, eyes sparked with utter doubt, probably seeing into the future. 

And as if the crowd couldn’t get any louder—it does.

Keith just wants to sink into a hole and live there forever. 

_ A hotel room? With Lance? If that’s not going to kill him, he doesn’t know what will.  _

Smythe announces something about the training dates, but Keith doesn’t bother to listen.

He’s sat back down on his spot in the bleachers, unblinking, unmoving.

_ A hotel room. With Lance. _

“Let’s go Pilots!” 

This is going to be a fun week.

* * *

 

 

Training for the competition takes three hours after classes. Last period ends at 3, then the 8 contestants head to the gym to tackle a series of questions and equations until 6. Parents pick them up, being mainstream and giving the “ _ I’m so proud of you!”  _ speech every single time in the car. Contestants go home to eat dinner, do homework, study for quizzes, and sleep. They do it all again in the next day.

The Monday after Mr. Smythe announced the STEMAB, training started. It went on for approximately 9 days. 

9 days. 3 hours after class. 27 hours in total.

27 hours.

27 hours of Keith 30% answering the practice questions and 70% staring at Lance.

Every day he swears to not lay an eye on him, but the next day, he couldn’t resist not to. 

It’s as if Lance was a question on the practice tests. The hardest one yet—perpetually difficult yet stubbornly possible.

And if you know Keith—which you probably already do by now—he never leaves a single question unanswered. 

Because he’s Keith Kogane. He has been the top student since 2nd grade. He has been answering question after question and tackling topic after topic, analyzing and conceptualizing how the world works based on his textbooks and Wikipedia pages. 

Yet he couldn’t analyze and conceptualize Lance. He was a whole other subject, a topic nobody has even  _ dared  _ to speak of. 

But it’s bugging Keith. It’s been bugging him ever since he saw the boy who called himself Lance during the essay competition. It’s like a mosquito that never goes away. A rock in the middle of the ocean. A star that never dies. A truth that has never been told. 

A question that has never been answered. 

And Keith wants to be the first one—better yet, the  _ only  _ one—to answer him. 

So, on this particular Friday, 3 days before they leave for the competition, Keith agrees when Lance walks home with him to study. 

“It is a natural phenomenon characterized by the eruption of super hot water and steam from the bedrock.” Keith reads a flashcard, adjusting his legs tucked underneath him as he sits on his bed.

“ _ Geyser _ . Hey, d’you think we’ll win?” Lance plays with Keith’s pillow, body laid out on the edge of the bed.

“No other questions. Arcturus is an orange star. Its surface temperature is forty-two thousand degrees celsius. What is its distance away from the sun?”

“ _ Thirty-eight light years _ . Do you think the others are studying as much as we are?”

“A substance that cannot be broken down into a simpler form is called an—”

“ _ Element _ . Hey—”

“What is the difference between prokaryotes and eukaryotes?”

“Eukaryotes have nuclei and prokaryotes do not hey is that a telescope?”

“What?”

Before Keith could move, Lance is off the bed, running quickly to the open window across the room. It’s dark outside, nothing but the stars and flickering lamp posts. The only light that illuminates Keith’s room at 6pm is his color-changing humidifier and a desk lamp that looks like the one from the Pixar intro. 

Lance’s sock-covered feet trod the brown carpet, leaving heavy steps for Keith to hear. He flinches, silently praying that his parents downstairs wouldn’t assume anything is wrong.

But Lance is right—there  _ is  _ a telescope in Keith’s room, and it’s not a toy. He’s talking about a legit telescope, the one that works and is really,  _ really  _ expensive.

“ _ Holy shit.”  _ Lance mutters, eyes twinkling with wonder as he drags his long fingers over the optical tube—the main body of the telescope.

And if Lance was a total stranger, Keith would immediately eject off of his bed and tackle the person to the ground because why the hell would someone touch his telescope? Can’t they keep their hands to themselves?

But Keith doesn’t do this, no. He doesn’t leap into his direction and wrestle him down. Because Lance  _ isn’t  _ a total stranger. In all types of ways, he isn’t. 

So Keith relaxes his tense shoulders, drops his arms to his lap, and watches Lance patiently. 

“I’ve… never seen one this close,” Lance mumbles, continuing to touch all parts of the telescope. 

Even though Lance can’t see it, Keith smiles. “You talk like you’ve seen an alien.”

“Oh no. This is  _ way  _ better than an alien.” 

Lance crouches down to look through the instrument. He tilts it gently on its mount, taking up the whole night sky at once. He mouths names of constellations, planets, and other visible elements up there. He looks just like how a 5 year-old boy would when he’s given a new toy monster truck.

Keith’s jaw clenched at the sight. 

It’s beautiful— _ he’s beautiful.  _ Keith was right. 

The stars  _ did  _ look pretty. But Lance outshined each and every one of them.

“Hey, can I tell you something?” Lance rocks back on his heels, plopping down on his butt and crossing his legs in front of him.

Keith twists his body to face him. “Sure.”

Lance inhales, nervousness lining his face for a second, but it quickly disappears, being replaced with bravery and absolutely no doubt. “You remember my pin? The blue astronaut helmet?”

Keith feels a lump in his throat, so he doesn’t speak. He responds by nodding.

“Since I was a kid, I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut,” he trails, picking at his nails. “It sounds fucking impossible, I know, but… dreams were dreams, y’know?”

“ _ Were?”  _ Keith questions. 

“Yeah. When I started high school, I figured how stupid that was.” 

“It may  _ sound  _ stupid, but it’s possible.” Keith says quietly. “Chris Hadfield, do you know him?”

“Hell yeah, he’s my hero.”

“I read somewhere that he watched the Apollo 11 moon landing and something just kinda… hit him.” Keith shrugs. “He dreamt of it, and he made it happen. So… I don’t know, why can’t  _ you _ ?”

A gust of wind passes in between them, something of stillness. Lance is left to his thoughts.

“I’ll put that to mind. Thanks, Keith.” he whispers, barely audible. “Can we take a break? I wanna keep looking through.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Keith won’t force Lance to study—he doesn’t need it. Garrison High had the best teachers and subject coordinators. With them, the school had a clear shot at victory.

The light is low now, the humidifier glowing a dark blue, the color it shows when it’s almost out of water. Keith doesn’t replace it, because why would he ruin the moment?

He knows that there are a lot of impossible things. He knows that it is impossible for his parents to be asleep right now. He knows that it is impossible for his humidifier to last the whole night. He knows that it is impossible for GH to not place at the STEMABs. He knows that it is impossible for Chris Hadfield to not have bad dreams. He knows that it is impossible for Lance to  _ ever  _ love him. He knows that it is impossible for him to even have the strength to love Lance.

Keith slumps, shoulders falling lower than they should. His eyes are tired, but he fights to stay awake, because he can’t just fall asleep. Not now. Not there.

His eyes travel back to Lance, and the way his legs are crossed underneath him. The way the freckles in his skin almost twinkle like the very stars he is looking at. The way his lips are upturned in a never-ending smile. The way his eyes sparkle in fascination. The way his hair is messed up. The way he has pen ink on his palms. The way his back rises and falls with every breath. 

Keith is accepting reality. He has been accepting it ever since he knew what it felt like. It’s not easy, definitely. But he knows that somewhere out there is a god that compromises. One who never fails to make the people see the true beauty and value of the universe.

He sighs, and accepts his reality right at that moment.

_ They were under the same sky, at least. _

* * *

 

 

“I think it’s kinda unfair that you guys are out there enjoying ourselves while we’re left here studying.” Katie complains, a hand on her hip as her expression goes sour.

“No it’s not.” Keith differs, adjusting his duffel bag on his shoulder. “We’re sorta… representing the entire school.”

“But you get to stay in a hotel!” Nyma spreads her arms out. 

Keith laughs. “And also remembering the entire periodic table at the same time.”

Nyma narrows her eyes. “Touche.”

“Hey Keith! Ready to get on?” Mr. Dos Santos hollers from the door of the school bus the contestants are going to be using. Of course, it’s the school’s best bus. They’re going to represent the school the  _ proper  _ way. 

“Yeah! I’ll be right there.” Keith waves. The school bell rings at the same time, the students starting to fill in through the doors. “You guys should get going too.”

Hunk quickly shoves Katie out of the way to wrap his huge arms around Keith. “I’m gonna miss you, buddy! Please don’t forget about us!”

“Hunk,” Nyma says. “He’s not going to war.”

“Still! Two days without Keith is gonna be tough.” Hunk releases his tight grip.

“Hey man, I’ll be back before you know it.” Keith lips turn up into a smile. He turns on his heel to walk to the bus, waving to his friends before stepping on.

He nods to the driver, who gives him a small salute back. A lot of students cheer when they see him, pumping their hands into the air. Keith could already smell the victory. 

He scans the people on the bus. There are some seats to spare, especially the row at the back, the most comfortable place on the bus. But Keith doesn’t keep a whole row to himself. 

His eyes instantly go to the boy who spent the night staring through a telescope in wonder, to his eyes that seemed to have swallowed the stars, and his lips upturned in a small smile. Keith walks through the aisle, returning high-fives here and there, before sitting next to Lance. 

Everything sort of faded around them, leaving them empty in the moment. Keith couldn’t help his face from lighting up.

“Hey there.” Lance chimes.

“Hi.”

* * *

 

 

The hotel isn’t anything fancy. There are no chandeliers in the lobby. The walls aren’t lined with gold. There isn’t anyone walking around in ballgowns or tuxedos. But it’s perfect in its own little way. It feels like home.

The carpet is fuzzy, for one. With just the right mix of complementing hues, the main room looks like a house in itself. Keith wouldn’t find it hard to get cozy.

Since there are 2 students per level, they would be roomed together. The teachers and coordinators would have their own separate rooms. 

So, it isn’t a rumor that Keith and Lance are roomed together.

The universe was kind enough, though, to give them 2 separate beds. It sort of avoided the there’s-only-one-bed trope. 

The view from the balcony is  _ perfect.  _ It overlooks the city, the hundreds of buildings with windows leading their own different lives. The horizon seems to stretch out forever, and Keith’s pretty sure he could see LA from there. He couldn’t take it all in though, since it’s only 10 AM, and the sun is high in the sky. Everything seems to be bathed in golden light, but there’s something about nighttime that makes Keith fall in love with it.

Then he realizes, the night before, he spent 5 hours with the boy he thought was only offering a single star, but surprised Keith with giving him the entire universe.

* * *

 

 

It is tradition for the contestants of each school to have a big shared dinner with one another a day before the competition officially begins. 4 whole hours of socializing, meeting new people, and giving off a good first impression. Of course, reading the other contestants’ body language is sure on the list. From the dinner, students begin to analyze their opponents, seeing who is the easiest to beat, and who they need to look out for. 

The night goes by particularly fast in Keith’s eyes. He remembers it zooming past him like the trains do in the subway. He doesn’t remember talking to Lance though—that he’s sure of. He was probably out talking to students from other schools, possibly flirting too. No one can control that boy. 

Keith only saw Lance when he returned to the hotel room at 8 PM. Lance was already asleep, covered in the white, soft sheets, his back rising and falling with every breath. His body was turned towards the balcony, and Keith wonders if he’s still awake. Maybe he’s looking at the stars again. But Keith doesn’t bother him. He walks quietly to his own bed, one table away from Lance’s, and tucks himself in. 

He whispers a silent “ _ goodnight _ ”, hoping at least if Lance’s ears won’t hear it, his heart would.

* * *

 

 

Most people say that 3 AM is the witching hour. Ever since Keith was a kid, his classmates would warn him about waking up in the middle of the night, and then seeing ghosts and supernatural figures in his room. But Keith’s a smart one, he’s takes things seriously. Waking up at 3 AM for him was simply  _ waking up at 3 AM.  _ It’s exactly like waking up at 12 or 1 or 2 or 4 or 5. Nothing makes 3 AM special. Well, until now. 

It’s pitch black when Keith opens his eyes. He’s laying on his right side, which is facing the door to the room and the bedside table where his phone is on. He checks it, the screen not jumping at him (because, like we said, he’s smart, he lowers his phone’s brightness before going to sleep). It reads 3:06 AM. He remembers all the ‘witching hour’ stories in elementary. For a second he’s spooked, since it’s the first time in months that he’s woken up at 3, but then he relaxes.

He puts his phone back on the table, and turns to see if Lance is still asleep. Bad news: he’s not. Good news: he’s out on the balcony.

What Keith is seeing now looks straight out of a romance movie. The sliding doors to the balcony are open, the white curtains flowing in the early morning wind. The city is still awake but before it all, is the breathtaking view.  _ Lance. _

His arms are crossed in front of him, from what Keith could see. He’s wearing blue shorts and a white shirt, elongating all his features. 

Keith thinks Lance is like Nyma’s paintings. Keith and Nyma would always sit opposite each other in art class, so all Keith could see is the back of her painting: the wooden frame. But that’s all Keith needs to know that whatever she’s making is beautiful. 

Instead of going back to sleep—which is what he  _ should  _ do because there’s a quiz bowl the next day—Keith pushes himself off the bed, wrapping his arms around him because the air from outside sure is cold, and walks to the balcony where Lance is. 

For the first time in what feels like forever, his heart doesn’t beat ecstatically. It’s calm, like the ocean waves on an afternoon. A steady beat fueled by the 3 AM moon. 

He steps out onto the balcony, bare feet hitting the cold white tiles. A foot away from Lance is where he stays, leaning his arms over the railing. Lance isn’t startled. Instead, he just keeps looking out into the distance, eyes full of wonder just like the night before. 

It feels like being groggy helps Keith be calm and collected, because the right words just roll out of his mouth, like when he writes an essay about a topic he knows everything about. “You should be sleeping.”

Lance doesn’t acknowledge Keith, but knowing that he’s beside him is all he really needs. “I know. Something’s just bothering me.”

Keith inhales the cold air, getting ready for a slap of reality. “What is it?”

“Let me be a bit straightforward for a second,” Lance adjusts his footing, still staring at the city. “I hope you win as president.”

Keith’s eyes widen, the grogginess clearly leaving him.  _ What did Lance just say? _

When Lance notices that Keith won’t be saying anything, he uses it as a chance to speak.

“I was a complete dick for throwing that party to snag votes. It’s not fair, Keith. I felt like you were just tagging along behind me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say things like that. I think that  _ you  _ should win. Look, I wasn’t a good sport myself. All… all my campaign plans were specifically targeting you.  _ I’m  _ the one who should be sorry.”

Lance now turns his head to look at Keith, and it almost erases all of Keith’s memory. “No, you shouldn’t be! You were just doing what you had to get your name out there. You did  _ nothing  _ wrong.”

“I did! Those posters, the ring pops—”

“I threw a house party. A party—with alcohol, let me remind you—to celebrate me winning.” Lance argues, running his hands through his hair.

“Why are you feeling so sorry about it  _ just  _ now? Okay, I’ll admit, it  _ was  _ a dick move, but really? Did studying for the quiz bowl just sorta… open your eyes to what you did?”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Then what did?”

“You.” Lance quietly says, his eyes are glossy. He’s on the brink of tears, Keith could see.

“What?” Keith whispers. He could feel the planets realign. 

“God…  _ you,  _ Keith. You, you,  _ you _ . You’re so unfair.”

“What did  _ I _ do?”

“Out of all the goddamn people in that school, I had to go up against you. Do you know how hard it is? Trying to beat someone who’s ten times smarter and nicer than you? It’s like challenging Dwayne Johnson to an arm wrestling match. But I had no choice! Everyone was rooting for me, hyping me up in the hallways and cheering whenever Smythe called my name. They patronized me, the new kid. But I always thought about you. How did  _ you  _ feel? What was on  _ your  _ mind?”

“I—”

“Do you know what was on  _ my  _ mind? You! Nobody thought about you, so god just gave all the  _ compassion  _ to me! On that day… the essay competition, I saw you looking at me. You didn’t know that I was staring back. When I approached you, my hands were in my pockets because they were  _ so  _ sweaty,” Lance laughs hysterically, tears finally flowing out of his eyes. “When I talked to you, it felt like talking to a legend. Keith… fuck it, you make my heart beat out of my chest. You’re the reason I’m even getting up in the morning. You’re the reason I still go to school. And when you pulled me into the bathroom at my house? I was drunk, I know, but I felt it, okay? I don’t care if you feel the same way or not. There it is.”

Keith’s stunned. It was  _ exactly  _ what he felt towards Lance. Lance just made it clear to him. He doesn’t know what to feel now, because his emotions are a mess. He’s crying, too. Sniffing every now and then. His heart’s all rambled up because hell, he feels the same way. He really does. But he hasn’t come out yet. No one knows his secret. 

How would he tell it?

“You’re number one in that school, Keith. And I get it, you worked hard for that. I accept what’s left for me. I’m good with being second best. I always have been.”

Keith reaches for Lance’s hand agonizingly but beautifully slow, bringing it up to his face. Lance runs his thumb over Keith’s cheek, and Keith feels like melting away. He suddenly didn’t care about the quiz bowl the next day. All he cared for was Lance, Lance, Lance. His heart beat to the sound of his name.

Lance steps closer, bringing his arm around Keith’s waist. Keith doesn’t pull away, he sinks into it. Sinks into the feeling, the warmth. It’s the first time he’s felt like this. Lance is looking down, though, ashamed of what he said and what he’s doing. 

Keith nudges his chin up, looking into Lance’s eyes for a brief second—all he really needs. Time stood still as their lips slowly found each other, seeking shelter. It’s not heavy and strong, absolutely not. It’s soft, like a ballad sung in the morning. Like how the birds chirp on a windowsill. How the rain patters on the leaves. Their tears are mixing together but that’s okay—everything’s okay. Not winning president is okay. Not bringing home the gold for the quiz bowl is okay. Not being top of the class is okay.

But being with each other is definitely okay. It’s the okay-est of all the okay’s.

They pull away for a second, breathing like they’re on top of Mount Everest.

Keith shakes his head. “You were never second best.”

That was all it took before their lips connect once again. 

And for once in their lives, everything was perfect.

* * *

 

The Garrison Publications released the weekly school paper with the headline:  _ GH Students Bring Home the Gold for the 6th Time at the STEM Academic Quiz Bowl! Go Pilots! _

And no, the winning question was not a revolutionary one where Lance or Keith had to solve using the entire chalkboard. The team won because of one freshman, who simply answered “zero” while her opponent was trying to solve the problem.

On the way home, Keith and Lance both promise to keep their secret for a little bit longer. 

The week after that, the official student council members were announced. 

Ina Leifsdottir won Assistant Secretary. Alexa Kingsley won Secretary. James Griffin won Vice President.

As to who won Garrison High Student Body President 2018-2019, everyone was astonished.

It was Lance.

While everyone was jumping up and down screaming for joy, Keith was sitting on his spot at the bleachers, clapping slowly as a smile lit up his face.

Lance’s winning speech took on all levels of cliche, but what Keith would never forget, was Lance personally telling everyone how Keith was a tough person to beat, but he couldn’t have hoped for a better person to run against otherwise. 

Keith knows that one of his main goals for his senior year was to win president, but not accomplishing that only made him happier.

Why? 

If he wasn’t pushing himself to win, he wouldn’t have realized how he felt for Lance. Those weeks were all he needed before he told the world who he really is.

So, at his valedictorian speech, he comes out. And  _ everyone  _ heard it. Nyma, Hunk, Katie, James, Alexa, Ina, Shiro, and Lance. 

He has never felt more excited for starting a brand new chapter. Everything was falling perfectly into place. He couldn’t ask for more.

* * *

 

 

Shiro points to a building right as they turn a corner. “That’s the Academic Resource Center, right next to it is the Education Building, a great place for your presentations here at NYU.”

“Have you talked about something in that building before?”

“Yeah I have, for an accounting class two years ago. It was the  _ worst. _ ”

Keith laughs. “You  _ hate  _ accounting.”

“No shit.”

Keith’s startled when an arm wraps around his waist, but he relaxes quickly, knowing that it’s Lance.

“Hey,” he says, out of breath. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You didn’t miss  _ that  _ much,” Shiro says.

Keith turns his head to look at Lance, before leaning in. Their lips find each other, pulling away right after. 

“Go on, man, don’t worry ‘bout us.” he says to Shiro, who snorts in return.

“As you wish. Over here’s the Stern School of Business…”

Even though he has been telling himself this for the whole two months of summer, Keith reassures himself  _ again  _ that he’s going to finish the top of his batch for his senior year. Of course, he doesn’t raise his voice about it like some of his selfish and egotistical classmates, no. He keeps it to himself, and he’s been keeping it to himself ever since he became the top student in 2nd grade. Honestly, he’s not one of those boastful people who run around the school halls announcing that they got a certificate of participation. Keith could easily be awarded the most humble person in the entire Garrison High School. His modesty is exceptional.

And he knows  _ one  _ thing: the world has lines. Those of latitude and longitude, the ones that tell dates and times, the ones that send signals, the ones that hold plate boundaries, the ones that help students graph, straight ones like rulers, flowing ones like the red string on Keith’s backpack, and hazy ones like him and Lance.

The world is full of hazy love lines. They hold together people who belong together. Who fit together like pieces in a puzzle. Those who don’t need second guessing. 

Some lines stay blurry. Some clear out a bit. Some fade into nothing.

But the others?

They become true, rigid, inflexible, unbending, and unyielding.

Then they’re not called as hazy anymore. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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